Robert Asprin - The Bug Wars

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The Bug Wars

"REMINDER" by Buck Coulson

The stardrive was discovered on a planet in Centaurus,

By a race that built their cities when the Earth was burning gas.

They swept across the starlanes in the dawning of creation,

And a million years of empire came to pass.

Their successors were a swarm of mighty insects from Orion.

They did not have the stardrive, but they did not ever die.

They smashed a dying empire and then settled down to rule it,

And another million years or so went by.

The Insects were supplanted when the drive was rediscovered.

They could not stop rebellion when they could not catch their foes.

And the Tzen became the rulers. They were reptiles from Arcturus,

And they worshipped the dark swamps from which they rose.

But the Tzen were few in number and the universe is mighty,

And they felt their domination slip away between their claws.

Others fought for domination and the universe was chaos,

While on Earth a creature shaped flint with its paws.

Now the first ones are forgotten and the Insects but a memory,

And the creature called Man stands upon the threshold of his fame.

But remember, puny Earthlings, there were others here before you,

And still others who will follow in your flame.

BOOK ONE

CHAPTER ONE

I became awake. Reflexively, with the return of consciousness, I looked to my weapons. I felt them

there in the darkness, strapped to my body and attached to the panel close over my head. I felt

them, and relaxed slightly, moving on to other levels of consciousness. I have my weapons, I am

alive, I am a Tzen, I am dutybound, I am Rahm.

Having recalled I am a Tzen, it did not surprise me that I thought of my duty before even

thinking of my name. It is part of the character of the Tzen to always think of the species and

the Empire before thinking of themselves, particularly the Warrior caste, of which I was one. It

has occasionally been suggested, privately of course, that some of the other castes, particularly

the Scientists, think of the individual before they think of the species, but I do not believe

this. A Tzen is a Tzen.

I flexed my talons. Yes, my body was functioning efficiently. I was ready to venture

forth. There had been no sound of alarm or noises of battle, but I still was cautious as I pressed

the release lever of my shelf with my tail. The door slid down a fraction of an inch and stopped

as I scanned the chamber through the slit.

The chamber was dimly lit, closely approximating moonlight. The air was warm-not hot, but

warm and humid, the temperature of night in the Black Swamps. We were not being awakened for

relaxation and food replenishment. We were being awakened to hunt. We were preparing for combat.

Without further meditation, I slid the door the rest of the way open and started to slide

from my shelf, then paused. Another Tzen was moving along the walkway I was about to step out on.

I waited for him to pass before standing forth and securing my weapons.

The fact that I outranked him, in fact was his immediate superior on this mission, was

irrelevant. My waiting was not even a matter of courtesy, it was logical. The walkway was too

narrow for two to pass, and he was moving on it first.

We exchanged neither salutes nor nods of recognition as he passed, his tail rasping

briefly on the walkway. His ten-foot bulk, large even for a Tzen, was easy to recognize in the

semidarkness. He was Zur, my second-in-command for this mission. I respected him for his

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abilities, as he respected me for mine. I felt no desire to wish him luck or a need to give him

last-minute instructions. He was a Tzen.

He, like the rest of my flight team, had performed efficiently in practice, and I had no

reason to expect they would perform otherwise in actual combat. If he or any of the others seemed

lax or panicky in battle, and if that shortcoming endangered me or the mission, I would kill them.

The walkway was clear now, and I moved along it to the junction between the shelf-wall and

the engineward flex-well. For a moment, I was thankful for my rank. As flight team Commander, my

flyer was positioned closest to the floor, which spared me climbing up the curved wall. Not that I

would mind the climb, but since flyer training began, I had discovered I was mildly acrophobic. It

didn't bother me once I was flying, but I disliked hanging suspended in midair.

I didn't spend a great deal of time checking over the flyer. That was the Technicians'

job. I knew enough about the flyers to pilot them and effect minor repairs, but machines were the

Technicians' field of expertise as weapons are mine, and anything they missed on their check would

be too subtle for me to detect.

Instead, I occupied my time securing my personal weapons in the flyer, a job no Technician

could do. I do not mean to imply by this that the Technicians are lacking in fighting skill. They

are Tzen, and I would willingly match any Tzen of any caste on a one-for-one basis against any

other intelligent being in the universe. But I am of the Warrior caste, the fighting elite of a

species of fighters, and I secure my own weapons.

In truth, it was doubtful they would be necessary on this mission; still, it heartened me

to have them close at hand. Like so many others, I had not yet completely acclimated myself to the

new technology that had been so suddenly thrust upon us. The hand weapons were a link with the

past, with our heritage, with the Black Swamps. Even the High Command did not object to the

practice of carrying hand weapons on a mission. They merely limited the total weight of personal

gear carried by a Warrior in his flyer. Nobody comes between a Tzen and his weapons, not even

another Tzen.

Content with my inspection, I eased myself into the flyer and settled into the gel-

cushion. With a sigh, the flyer sealed itself. I waited, knowing that as my flyer sealed, a ready

light had appeared on the pilot's board; and that as soon as all the lights from this chamber were

lit, we would be ready to proceed with the mission.

Unlike the colony ships, transports such as the one we were currently chambered in were

stark and bare in their interiors, devoid of anything not absolutely vital to the mission. This

left me with little to meditate on as I waited. Almost against my wishes, my thoughts turned

toward the mission we were about to embark upon. My reluctance to think about the mission did not

spring from a reluctance to fight or a fear for my personal safety. I am a Tzen. However, I

personally find the concept of genocide distasteful.

Finally the flex-walls, both the one my flyer was affixed to and the one across the

chamber, trembled and began to move. The mission was about to begin. Slowly they straightened,

changing the parabola-cross-sectioned shape of the room into a high, narrow rectangle. The flyers

on my wall were now neatly interspaced with those on the far wall. The net result was to stack us

like bombs in a rack, poised and ready to drop.

As our flight team made their final preparations, we knew that the chambers on either side

of us would be spreading their walls, taking advantage of the space vacated by our walls to ease

the loading of its flyers. As I have said, there is no wasted space on a transport.

The floor of the chamber opened beneath me. As the bottom flyer in the stack, I had an

unobstructed view of the depths below. I experienced a moment of vertigo as I looked down at the

patch of darkness. We are not an aerial species.

Then I was in a free-fall. There was no jerk of release; I was just suddenly falling.

Although I normally avoid stating opinions as fact, this is not a pleasant sensation.

As we had been warned during our briefings, the Battle Plan called for a night attack.

This was tactically sound, since the Enemy are day-hunters, while we Tzen are accustomed to

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working at night. It gave us an immeasurable advantage in the impending fight. It also meant that

the planet-face we were plummeting toward was dark, giving no clue of terrain features.

Crosswinds buffeted my flyer as I fell, but I was not concerned. Crosswinds, like

atmospheric pressures and weather conditions, would have been taken into consideration by the

pilot when he'd dropped us. In their own way, the pilots were specialists as highly trained as the

Warriors.

The tingle in the footplate told me my flyer was in the outer fringe of one of the power

sources dropped by scout ships. Still I fell. Now I could make out a few features of the terrain

below. Far off to my left was a large body of water, below was some type of mountain range, while

off to my right stretched an immense forest. Obviously it was a highly inhabitable planet. No

wonder the Enemy had picked it as one of the spots to settle in. No wonder we had to take it away

from them.

The tingle in the footplate was noticeably stronger now, but I continued to fall. I

allowed myself to ponder the possibility of an auto-pilot malfunction, but dismissed the thought.

The programs were so simple as to be essentially infallible, and thus far, I did not have

sufficient cause to assume malfunction.

As if to confirm my conclusions, the auto-pilot chose that instant to react to the ground

rushing towards us from below. With a soft pop, the mighty flexi-steel bat wings that had been

folded against the flyer's sides unfurled, catching the rushing air and slamming the craft from a

dive into a soaring glide. The sudden declaration forced me deep into the gel-cushion and narrowed

my eyes.

A jab of pressure with both my heels on the footplate took the flyer out of auto-pilot and

gave me full control. I allowed the flyer to glide forward for a few moments, then arrested its

progress, hovering it in place with subtle play on the footplate. It was a moderately delicate

process, but we had been trained by long hours of practice to be able to accomplish this almost

without thinking, as we had trained in all facets of handling the flyers. The flyers were to be an

extension of our bodies, requiring no more thought for operation than the operation of our legs.

It was an advanced form of transport, nothing more. Our minds were to be focused on the mission,

on the Enemy.

As I waited, I surveyed the immediate terrain, using both my normal vision and the flyer's

sonic sensor screens. I was not overly fond of the latter, but their use was essential when

operating a flyer. There would be times, particularly flying in the dark, when we would be

traveling at speeds requiring warning of approaching obstacles well in advance of the range at

which our normal night vision was effective.

I was hovering over a river valley, the rising thermals making the job of hovering an easy

one. Ahead and to the right was the beginning of the vast forest range I had noted from the air.

Obviously the pilot had been accurate in his drop calculations.

"Ready, Rahm."

It was Zur's voice telepathed into my mind. I did not look back. I didn't need to. His

signal told me all I needed to know, that the team was in position behind me, each flyer in place

in our tetrahedron formation, hovering and impatient to begin.

I telepathed my order to the formation.

"Power on one...Ready...Three...Two...One!"

As I sent the final signal, I trod down solidly on the footplate and felt the surge of

power as the engine cut in. There was no roar, not even a whisper of sound. This was one of the

advantageous features of this new propulsion system. The sparkling engines were noiseless, giving

deadly support to our favored surprise attack tactics. The race that had developed the engine were

fond of using it for noiseless factories and elevators. As a Warrior race, we had other uses for

it.

Our formation darted forward through the dark on the first assault of the new war.

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CHAPTER TWO

Faintly in the darkness, we could see other formations paralleling our course. Somewhere behind us

were four other waves, constituting the balance of our Division. One hundred formations, six

hundred flyers pitted against an enemy numbering in the hundreds of thousands. Still, we were not

overly concerned with the outcome. Our flyers gave us superior speed and maneuvering ability in

the air. Our weapons were more than adequate to deal with the enemy. Given superior

maneuverability and weapons, we would have an edge in any fight, regardless of the odds. Our

military history had proven this to be true time and time again. Then there was the fact we were

Tzen. I would trust in the fighting-born and trained of the Tzen over any Insect's blind hive

instinct. We would win this War. We would win it because we had to.

We had reached the trees now, our formation flying low and straight without seeking

targets. The trees dwarfed our craft with their size. Their trunks were over thirty feet in

diameter, and stretched up almost out of sight in the darkness. Our zone was some distance ahead.

If the transport had timed its drops properly and if everyone maintained the planned courses and

speeds, the attack should be launched in all zones simultaneously, just as our Division's attack

was tuned to coincide with the attacks of the other divisions taking part in the assault on this

planet. In theory this would keep the Enemy from massing against us.

I could see the dark masses of the nests high in the trees as we sped silently on. I

strained my eyes trying to get a good look at the Enemy, but could make out nothing beyond general

seething blobs. They were sleeping, gathered in great masses covering the nests, apparently

unsuspecting of the shadows of death flitting through their stronghold. This was not surprising.

They and their allies had ruled the stars virtually uncontested for over a million years. We Tzen

had taken great pains to mask our existence, much less our development, until we were ready to

enter into combat. Now we were ready for combat, and the Enemy would know us-if any survived, that

is.

Still, I wished I could get a better look at them. It was difficult for me to accept the

concept of a wasplike creature with a twenty to thirty foot wingspan. Studying drawings and tri-D

projections was helpful, but nothing could serve as well as actually seeing a live enemy.

Though confident, I was uneasy. I would have preferred to have the first encounter with

the Enemy on solid ground, or better still, on the semiaquatic terrain we were accustomed to

battling on. I was uneasy about having our first encounter as an aerial fight against an aerial

species. For all our practice with the new flyers, the air was not our element. I wished the

initial battle did not hinge on our ability to outfly creatures born with wings. It made me

uneasy. I did not contest the logic behind the decision. It would. be disastrous to enter into

ground maneuvers while the Enemy still retained air supremacy. But it did make me uneasy.

Suddenly something struck the side of my flyer too quickly to be avoided. It clung to the

Plexiglas, scrabbling and rasping, seeking entrance. It took a great deal of effort to keep my

attention focused forward, to avoid flying into something, with the creature raging at the edge of

my peripheral vision less than a foot from my head. I had a quick impression of multifaceted

metallic eyes glaring at me and darting mandibles gnashing on the transparent bubble; then I

rolled the flyer and it was gone. There was a quiet burst of sound behind me like a sudden release

of compressed air, and I knew that Zur had finished off the interloper. I shot a sideways glance

at the spot on the canopy where the creature had clung briefly before being shaken off. There were

deep gouges in the bubble from the Enemy's efforts, and a few spots where the creature's saliva

had begun to eat through.

I was pleased. The brief encounter had prepared me for battle far more than any mental

exercise I could have devised. New energy coursed through my veins, adding that all-important

extra split second of speed to my reflexes. Instead of developing it in the first pass, I would

now be entering the conflict in a controlled battle frenzy.

For the first time I began to entertain hopes of emerging from the battle alive.

Then we were at our target zone. At my signal the formation expanded, each Tzen increasing

the distance between his flyer and his teammate's. Then, as a unit, we climbed toward the treetops

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and the Bug War began.

The combat, like any combat, soon became too fast-paced for conscious thought. We had

trained with our flyers and weapons until they were a part of us, and their use was as unthinking

as flexing our talons. Our minds and senses were focused on the Enemy and the terrain.

Thoughts became a flashing kaleidoscope of quick impressions and hazily remembered

instructions. Use the cold-burn rays as much as possible...less effective than the hot-beams, but

they'll damage the forest less...we'll want to settle here someday...Swarm massing to block flight

path...burn your way through...don't wander more than five degrees from your base course...sweep

three nests simultaneously with a wide beam...if you wander you'll end up in a teammate's line of

fire...turn ninety degrees...turn right, always right...Kor is on your right...don't trust her for

a left turn...avoid the tree trunk and burn the nests as your weapon bears...Enemy on the wing

tip...roll...burn the nests...don't wander from base course...

We were working our zone in a broken sweep Pattern. A straight geometric pattern would

have been easier to remember and more certain for a complete sweep. It also would have been

predictable. If we tried to use a geometric sweep, by the third pass the Enemy would be massed and

waiting for us. So we continued our twisted, seemingly random pattern, crossing and recrossing our

own path, frequently burning our way through swarms of the Enemy flying across our path in

pursuit.

...Turn to the right...burn the nests...cold-beam rays only...

We were constantly flirting with disaster. Our flyers could outdistance the lumbering

Enemy; but if we used our speed, dodging trees required most of our attention, and we ran the risk

of missing nests. If we slowed our speed to an easy pace for sweeping, the Enemy could either

overtake us or move to intercept. So we flirted with death, sometimes plunging recklessly ahead,

sometimes rolling as we turned to free our flyers of the Enemy clinging to the wings, threatening

to drag us to the ground with the sheer mass of their numbers.

...Avoid the trees...burn through a swarm...turn to the right...burn the nests...roll...

One thing bothered me. The mission was going too smoothly. I received no sign-off and

visually confirmed on the passes when I was bringing up the rear. All our flyers were still with

us. We had not lost any team members. If the other divisions were experiencing similar success,

there could be difficulties when we headed back.

...Don't wander...roll...turn to the right...burn the nests...

We were near completing the sweep of our zone. I was concerned about the north border,

however. The team zones overlapped to ensure no "live" pockets were accidentally overlooked. This

meant careful timing between the teams was necessary to be sure two teams didn't sweep the same

region at the same time and accidentally fly into each other. It was a bothersome but effective

system; however, something was wrong. We seemed to be the only ones working the region by the

north border, and when we turned, we could see nests remaining beyond our zone.

Something was very wrong with the flight team to our north. The end of our sweep was upon

us, and I had to make a decision fast. This was not particularly difficult, as there was really

only one course of action to be followed. We could not risk leaving unburned nests behind. This

was a genocide war. If we left any eggs behind, we would have to come back later and fight this

action all over again, but this time against an Enemy that was prepared and waiting for us. We

couldn't leave those nests behind.

As we completed our sweep, I signaled the formation to return to the north border. This

undoubtedly caused some consternation in my team, but they were Tzen, and they followed without

complaint as I led the formation in a turn to the left. In this situation, a turn to the left was

safe. I didn't have to worry about Kor, as long as we were moving, to prolong contact with the

Enemy.

The fighting became more difficult as we made our supplemental sweep. This was only to be

expected. Not having had an opportunity to work out a coordinated random pattern, we were forced

to work a simple back-and-forth geometric pattern. As it has been noted before, geometric patterns

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are suicidal.

We had reached a point where we were spending as much time burning swarms of the Enemy as

we were burning nests when the long-awaited call was beamed into my mind. When we crossed into

another flight team's zone we turned on the trespass beacons in our craft to alert the assigned

team of our presence, and we were finally getting a response.

"I have a fix on your beacons," came the thought. "While I appreciate the assistance in

covering this zone, I can now complete assignment without additional support. You may return to

rendezvous point."

I noted her use of the word "I" instead of "we."

"What is your condition?" I queried.

"Five flyers lost. My own canopy is breached. It is therefore impossible for me to meet

pickup ship. However, I can complete the mission. Feel free to return to rendezvous point."

What occurred to me was the difficulty our six flyers had had sweeping this zone, giving

rise to the question of the lone flyer's ability to finish the job. I rejected the thought. She

was a Tzen. If she said she could complete the mission, she could complete it.

"Return to rendezvous!" I beamed to my team and slammed my flyer into a steep climb out of

the trees.

I experienced a moment of worry about Kor, but it appeared to be without basis. As we

broke out into the predawn light, she was in her appointed position in the formation.

I did not ponder the nobility of the Tzen who sent us on, staying to fight alone. Among

the Tzen, this was not exceptionally heroic. Rather, it was our expected performance of duty.

The sky was empty of other flight teams as we streaked toward the rendezvous point. This

was not surprising, as our supplemental sweep had taken us extra time. The other units were

probably already at the rendezvous point.

Far below I noticed a portion of the forest blazing. Apparently someone had been careless

with the use of his hot-beam. I studied it as we flashed overhead. It was in a relatively small

portion of the forest, set off from the main mass by a river. Hopefully the river would halt the

fire's march. After all this trouble to keep the forest intact, it would be disappointing to see

it all lost because of one flyer's carelessness.

We were almost at the pickup point, and our formation was climbing steadily to gain the

necessary altitude. We could see the transport now, and as we drew closer, the small cloud of

flyers waiting their turn in a holding pattern.

I tried to ignore the implications of this as our team joined the holding pattern. Either

we weren't the only ones who had had our mission delayed, or...

I forced the thought from my mind, It was almost our turn for entry. I led my team away

from the ship in a long circle, allowing maneuvering room for the members to rearrange the

formation from a tetrahedron to a single file. Ready now, we turned our line toward the ship,

setting a bearing for the open pickup port.

The port was closed. As we watched, the transport broke orbit and began to move away,

gaining speed as it went.

CHAPTER THREE

One of the most difficult phases in planning a military campaign is deciding an "Anticipated

Casualty Rate." Interstellar combat has made this phase even more crucial. You estimate the number

of warriors required to complete the mission after casualties. You then calculate your

transportation and supply needs based on that number. If you underestimate your casualties, you

run the risk of losing the battle. Overestimate and you are in danger of losing your entire force

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if your supplies or fuel run out while you're still in space.

The High Command had arrived at a solution to this problem: They calculated the number of

anticipated casualties and then stuck to it. They might suffer more casualties than planned, but

never less. They planned for returning a specific number of troops to the colony ship, and when

that number was on board the transport, they simply shut the doors. Anyone still outside was then

considered a casualty.

Apparently this is what had happened to us.

As this was our first confrontation with the Insects, the High Command had had no data on

which to base their casualty estimates, so they had estimated high. This ensured the mission would

be completed. This also meant we were shut out.

This did not mean simply diverting to another transport. If there had been extra space

available in another ship, we would have been directed to it. We hadn't. There was no more space.

As far as the High Command was concerned, we were now officially dead.

I found my position curious, the live commander of a live "dead" flight team. What does

one do after one is dead? I decided the crisis was of a magnitude to warrant getting the thoughts

of the team.

"Confer!" I beamed to the formation at large. I expected a few moments' silence while they

collected their thoughts, but Kors answer was almost immediate.

"If we're dead, the obvious course is to take additional legions of the Enemy to the Black

Swamps with us. We may have gotten all the eggs and queens on the formal raid, but there are still

a large number of workers we can destroy before the power sources burn out.

"Ahk here, Rahm. Should we accept so readily that we're dead? There is always a chance of

a missed transmission from the transport. I would suggest we use whatever power remains to sweep

for another transport. If we cannot find one, then we can decide a course of action.

"May I remind the team," came Ssah's voice, "that dead or not, Rahm is still in command.

As Commander, it is his duty, difficult though it may be, to decide our course of action, not

waste our time in idle debate."

"Mahz confirms Ssah's contention!"

I was about to reply to this implication of my shirking of duty, when Zur's quiet voice

interrupted.

"If I may, Commander, there is no need for us to die. However, if the Black Swamp calls us

home, there is much we can do for the Empire first."

His assertion intrigued me.

"Explain, Zur."

"There is another species of the Coalition of Insects present on this planet. This means

the fleets will be back. If we can survive long enough, we can rejoin the Empire at that time.

Even if we do not survive until rendezvous, we may be able to gather information on the Enemy to

leave for the Empire's use."

His advice was timely and meritorious. If there was a chance we could still be of use to

the Empire, there was nothing further to discuss.

"On my lead!" I beamed at the team and wheeled toward the planet surface. Behind me, the

flyers broke from the circling holding pattern we had maintained for our conference to form the

tetrahedron behind me. We were again Tzen with a purpose.

Time was of the essence now. The ground-based power sources for our flyers were not long

lived. They should have output beyond the forecast time of the mission to allow extra flyers to

find secondary transports if available, but as we had cause to know, casualties had been light.

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That meant additional drain on the power sources. We had no way of knowing how much time was left

before our engines would die.

"As we reach low altitude, scatter and search individually. We want a large, deep cave in

the low mountain range, not more than five hundred meters from a water source, preferably with an

overhanging ledge. Avoid the forests and high-altitude flying at all costs."

As Kor had pointed out, there were still worker Wasps about. It would not pay to have them

discover the presence of lingering Tzen to vent their vengeance on.

"Commander, may I suggest-"

"You may not, Ssah! As you pointed out, this is my decision to make and I have made it.

You have your orders."

The team scattered, each taking a sextant to canvass. Our flyers skimmed low over the

rolling foothills, racing to find refuge before our time ran out. Each pass through my sextant

took longer as the search pattern widened. I began to grow concerned. The pattern might spread too

far without success, and then we would be in danger of being unable to regroup our flyers if the

power source stopped.

I banked the flyer into another turn and started back through my sextant, alert for any

sign of a cave such as we were seeking. In another few sweeps I would have to break off the search

and try another plan. If we flew too far apart, we would be unable to contact each other

telepathically.

"Commander I have a cave."

"Message confirmed, Ssah. Is it large enough to get our flyers into?"

"I have already flown in and back out again successfully. It will suit our purposes."

Not for the first time I noted Ssah's tendency for unnecessarily reckless action. However,

this was not the time to go into it at length.

"Team confirm. and home on Ssah's beacon."

"Mahz confirms."

"Ahk confirms."

"Zur confirms."

I waited for a few moments. Kor did not confirm.

"Zur, Mahz, you are closest to Kor's sextant. Relay message or confirmation."

"I have her confirmation, Commander," came Mahz's reply.

With the order acknowledged throughout the team, I wheeled my flyer over and made for

Ssah's beacon. Traveling at maxspeed, I soon had the cave in sight. The opening was low, with only

a little over ten feet clearance, but more than wide enough to accommodate the flyer's wingspan. I

saw two of the team, Ahk and Mahz, dart their flyers into the cave's mouth as I began my approach.

I cut power and leveled my glide two feet off the ground, I had to assume the cave was

deep enough that I wouldn't have to worry about plowing into the flyers ahead of me. If it was

not, the others would have warned me.

The entrance loomed before me; then I was through. The sudden change from early morning

light to the utter blackness of the cave temporarily robbed me of vision. My sonic sensor screens,

however, told me I had flown through an opening at the top of a wide cavern, about forty feet

deep. I could make out the other flyers, four of them, grounded at the bottom of the cavern. I

steered for them, wondering who the missing flyer was. I prepared for landing, taking a deep

breath and exhaling it slowly. Even though my current glide speed felt slow compared to my earlier

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power-flight, the ground was coming up fast, and our flyers were not adapted for ground landings.

My flyer touched down, jarring me with the impact, and slid along the cavern floor, the bubble

making painful sounds against the rock. I ignored it.

"Who's missing?" I queried before my flyer had ground to a complete halt.

"Kor."

This could mean trouble.

"Mahz! Are you sure she confirmed...?"

"Here she is now, Commander."

My eyes were becoming accustomed to the darkness now. I could make out the shape of Kor's

swooping silently down on us from the mouth of the cave.

I was burning with questions, but held them in check. You do not distract someone with

questions while they're trying to crash-land a flyer.

Finally she touched it down, the flyer coming to a halt a few feet from the others. By

this time we were all out of flyers and waiting for her.

"Kor! Explain your delay."

I was aware my head was sinking dangerously close to the flat position of extreme anger.

Apparently she noticed it, for as she rose from her flyer, her head position denoted both anger

and defense.

"I encountered the Enemy, Commander. There were three-"

"Did they see you?"

"Yes, but I destroyed all three of them and swept the immediate area for any others,

that's why I was-"

"Zur!" I diverted my attention to my second-in-command, who had approached behind Kor as

we spoke, his massive ten-foot height dwarfing her sixfoot stature.

"Yes, Commander?"

"Is there any evidence known of telepathic powers in the Enemy?"

"None known, but it is not beyond speculation. Many of the lower orders of insects are

known to communicate telepathically."

I turned from them abruptly.

"Ssah! Check your indicators. Is the power-source still broadcasting?"

"Yes, Commander."

"Then you and Mahz pivot your flyers around and use the hot-beams to seal the cave."

I turned back to Kor, my tail lashing angrily despite my efforts to control it.

"Kor, I have a direct order for you. Even though you are without question the most

efficient fighter on the team, I will not have the unit's safety jeopardized by independent

action. In the future, if you contact the Enemy, you are to so inform the team immediately. If you

do not, it will be considered a direct breach of orders."

There was a rumbling crash, and the meager light in the cavern disappeared. The cave was

sealed. I turned and raised my voice in the darkness.

"Now use your narrow beams to open a tunnel to the surface. I want it to be just large

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enough to allow us passage one at a time on all fours."

There was a moment of silence.

"That will be impossible, Commander."

"Explain."

"The power-source has just stopped broadcasting."

CHAPTER FOUR

We were effectively buried alive. I considered the problem carefully.

"Did anyone bring a glow-bulb in their personal gear?"

"I did, Commander." Ahk's voice came out of the blackness.

"I feel it would be in the team's best interests if you lit it now."

"Agreed. It is still in my flyer, so if I could get a sound fix from either of the two who

were at the flyers when the cave was sealed-"

"Ssah here. Your flyer is about four feet to my left. Would you like me to keep talking to

serve as a beacon, or do you have the location?"

"I have it. I'll fetch the bulb now, Commander."

I heard a faint scratching as he moved past me. Even though nothing could be seen in this

total absence of light, I knew clearly enough what he was doing to visualize it in my mind's eye.

He was edging slowly sideways across the cavern, one hand sweeping the area in front of his head

and shoulders, his tail probing for obstacles in the path of his feet and legs. It was not the

first time Tzen had had to operate in a total absence of light. The probability of his stumbling

was practically nonexistent.

"Ssah! When you scouted the cave, did you have an opportunity to give it a full scan with

your sonic screen?"

"I did, Commander."

"Are there any other openings to the outside of any size?"

"None."

A pinpoint of light appeared, widening to disclose the entire small glowing ball as Ahk

twisted the glow-bulb to its fullest setting. The light revealed the rest of the team standing

around the cavern. They had remained motionless in the darkness to avoid blundering into Ahk's

path, but now that a light source had been reestablished, they became animated again.

"Where would you like the light, Commander?"

"Just set it on top of your flyer for now."

My eyes were rapidly adapting to the dim light. Features of the cavern were becoming

visible again. I was impressed with the glow-bulbs and made a mental note to include one in my

personal gear in the future. Though the visibility was improving, I was pleased that Ssah had used

her sonics to check the chamber. It would have taken a great deal of time to perform a close

visual check for other openings, whereas the sonics had provided us with the same data in a matter

of seconds. It was an efficient use of available equipment.

"My preliminary scouting also showed no other life, plant or animal, in the cavern."

This added bit of data from Ssah was needless. I had assumed that had there been other

life, she would have told me in her initial report, particularly in Enemy-held terrain. I was not

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