Victory's Defeat, page 30
“I believe I made the right choice when I had Youngpond removed.”
“Now is as good a time as any to go over the basics; do you want to bring the other two in here?”
For several hours Shandrake went over the controls and what they did. Very early on he realized that he was not talking to children, but rather a very bright group of experienced adults. He began to expand his vocabulary and move faster through the process.
“Do any of you know how to read?” he asked, not offensively. He opened a small cabinet and pulled out a thick binder.
“We all do,” Parendall stated.
“It appears I have as much to learn as you three. Okay, this is the manual for this ship. It goes through every aspect of the controls and deals with almost any potential problem and how to cope with it. This is about as entertaining as eating rocks, but each of you will want to read this, understand it, and live it. If this machine is going to be your home for the next seven years, you will need it. Right now, I’m going to need Ziva’s help in the nosecone area. It is a tight fit. There is what is called a ‘transponder’ down there. It is how Progerian ships identify who we are and where we are. We need to pull it out from its present location so that I can disable it; this is a two person job.”
“Perhaps you should bring Parendall; I do not like tight fits. They remind me too much of caves. I have been in many caves.”
“I may not know much about Genogerians, but I can tell when two beings would like to be alone,” Shandrake said for Ziva’s ears only.
“I do not know much about Progerians either, but to be truthful, I don’t want to spend any alone time with you,” he replied in all seriousness.
“I have already more times than I can count been surprised with the intelligence in your group, please do not make me think less of you now,” Shandrake said as Ziva’s forehead furrowed in question before Shandrake pointed to Parendall and Demeta.
“You should have perhaps been more specific. Let us go and rip out this nosecone.”
“Not the entire nosecone, just one box.”
“If I don’t fit comfortably I will dismantle the entire thing.”
“If you do that you will be free-floating in space,” Shandrake warned.
“Maybe I misspoke my words. Talking in haste is never advisable,” Ziva replied.
“Seven years is a long time to be on the run,” Demeta said to Parendall as they lay close together in their narrow bunk that night.
“It will seem but a brief moment in our lives when it is over," he responded.
“How are we supposed to sleep when it is always night out here,” Ziva grumbled from a few feet away.
Ten Months Later
Ziva landed the shuttle twenty miles from Polsarus, a Progerian outpost. All of the original passengers, plus one very small newcomer had departed the shuttle. The preternaturally quiet infant lay still in his mother’s arms.
“Are you sure about this?” Shandrake asked.
“We will be fine,” Parendall spoke. “Even our clumsy friend can now land a shuttle without too much tossing around.”
“What lies are you speaking? I made a perfect landing!” Ziva was not amused.
“Perhaps if we compared it to a crash,” Shandrake said, getting Ziva to smile.
“Relax friend, we have studied your book, we have practiced and re-practiced all of the dangerous scenarios. We have held up your life long enough. You must get back to those you know and love.”
“Parendall, I’ll admit before we started, I harbored feelings that all Genogerians tended to be ignorant, brutish, beasts. I had no idea the depths of your intelligence nor capacity for feelings; I will not feel settled if I do not see your mission through to the end.”
“You yourself said from here on out it becomes vastly more dangerous. You have prepared us as well as you can. This is our fight now, not yours. You can do your part by letting Progerians know that we are capable of much more than killing Stryvers.” Parendall said as he laid a large hand on Shandrake’s shoulder.
Shandrake hugged Ziva, who begrudgingly hugged back. Then he moved on to Parendall who returned it wholeheartedly. He then placed his forehead against Demeta’s in a tender way before moving to the infant. “And you, Drababan, I will miss most of all.” As he took the small Genogerian’s hand. “Perhaps not your cleaning cloths…but everything else about you,” he added.
“You will be alright?” Demeta asked.
“The post is but a day’s hike from here.”
“And your command will not wonder what you have been up to?” she asked.
“They will. I will tell them that one of the oafish Genogerians crash landed in the desert.”
“I did not crash!” Ziva proclaimed emphatically.
“They will send a search party out here for you, and I’m afraid when they don’t find anything they will form suspicions regarding your plans, though I will not tell them. I will profess that I was in the cargo hold nearly the entire time. I fear they will launch an exhaustive hunt for you; it will be a priority to capture and make an example of you to all the other Genogerians that might wish to desert.”
“We know that we must go farther from our ultimate destination first before circling back around where we know they will look.”
“Not only that, Parendall, but you will be traveling in Stryver held space at that time. I fear your journey is fraught with more dangers than even you can know.”
“If we must remain as fugitives, this is our decision to make; and that is not something we have had very much chance to enjoy.”
Ziva handed Shandrake a rifle. “You will need this. Drafoons roam here at night.”
“I had forgotten about them.”
“Good thing the pilot that cannot fly knows how to read,” Ziva chuffed.
“Good thing.” Shandrake waved and walked away.
The four waited until he could no longer be seen on the horizon before they loaded back up and Demeta took off.
“I will miss him,” Ziva said as they looked at the retreating planet.
“I knew you liked him,” Parendall smiled.
“He was the best at preparing food of us all.” Ziva had laid his head against the glass, one hand on his gurgling stomach. “No offense, Parendall, but everything you cook smells like greer monk.”
* * *
Two years later
* * *
“We need to talk,” Demeta said as she sat down next to Ziva, who was playing with Drababan.
“Is it about Parendall’s cooking?” Ziva looked up.
“No, but that is troubling as well.”
Parendall came in from the back of the shuttle where he had been checking on a warning light.
“I do not like that look, Demeta,” Parendall said.
“There are problems with two of the fuel cells and we are dangerously low on provisions,” she said quickly.
“There is more,” Parendall prodded.
“Mandonia is four days flight from here,” she said.
Ziva and Parendall looked at each other. “The Progerian military training planet?” her mate asked.
“It is indeed that one.”
“We should not be that close,” Ziva said.
“We shouldn’t, but I changed course three days ago when I realized we weren’t going to make our next stop.”
“Demeta, these are decisions we must make as a group.” Parendall was upset.
“In most cases, I would agree with you. But I foresaw your answer in this regard; you would have wanted us to try, and I understand that. I ran hundreds, possibly thousands of simulations of our problems through the computer and it gave us less than one percent chance of making it.”
“One is better than none.” Ziva sat back hard against the bulkhead. “There is an army on that planet.”
“It’s just another raid,” Demeta placated.
“Taking supplies in the middle of the night from a long forgotten outpost is one thing, my Demeta, but sneaking into the teeth of a grangoor while it is awake and angry is quite another.”
“If it was just the three of us, I would not have done this. But I will not watch my son starve. All three of us are already giving up a portion of our meager rations, and still he is not getting enough. He needs food. We need food, and we need new fuel cells—otherwise all of this has been for nothing.”
The atmosphere within the shuttle was tense as they neared the military planet. Their tracking systems were picking up all sorts of ship signals. They did their best to stay as far away from the majority of the activity, but it seemed that most of the dwarf planet was being used for one military purpose or another.
“There is a valley here, surrounded on three sides by tall mountain peaks.” Parendall was surveying the landscape. “As near as I can tell, it seems to be unpopulated.”
“It is true, this place will provide excellent cover, but it is over one hundred and twenty miles to the nearest station. We will be out on foot and exposed for ten days, maybe more. Then there is the problem of being able to carry back the fuel cells and the provisions.” Ziva was mapping out a route.
“There are transport lines here and here.” Demeta pointed to the chart.
“Yes, I am doing my best to stay away from those; that would likely add another day or two onto our trek.”
“What if we didn’t avoid them?” Demeta asked.
Ziva looked over at her strangely.
“Demeta?” Parendall asked.
“We could steal a transport, get what we need, and be back to the shuttle in a day,” she said quickly.
“‘Steal’ implies that we find one on the side of the lane. You are talking about a hostile takeover, and there is no telling beforehand if we are about to strike a troop transport or a supply ship. One being much preferable to the other,” Parendall said.
“We are desperate; even if everything goes perfectly with Ziva’s plan, we run out of food half way through and water soon after. Perhaps we could make it; Drababan cannot.”
“It is settled then. We will take a transport—hopefully easily, but by force if necessary.” Parendall said.
“Do I not get a vote?” Ziva asked.
“By all means, go ahead,” Parendall said. “As long as you agree with me and Demeta.”
“I was going to. I just wanted to make sure my voice was heard.”
“Now comes the hard choice, Demeta,” Parendall stated.
“Now?” Ziva asked incredulously.
“Either you stay here and wait with the baby or I do, but he cannot come on this journey. It is fraught with danger he should not be exposed to; also, the child is a liability in this situation,” Parendall said.
“I will stay with Drababan. You have experience with Ziva in the field. Now is not the time to learn that,” Demeta admitted reluctantly.
“Ziva, let us grab our gear and go. I would like to be off the planet by this time tomorrow.”
The goodbyes were brief. Drababan reached out to give his sire an extra long hug as if he knew something none of the others did.
“How far to the supply lane?” Parendall asked after they’d gone a few miles.
“Another ten, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. There may be no reason for anyone to come out this far,” Ziva replied. “What is your plan?”
“You’re not going to like it, my friend.”
“How much am I not going to like it?” Ziva asked.
“We will get to the transport lanes and merely walk down them.”
“That’s it? We will walk down the lane? What is wrong with th….” Ziva paused. “Wait, that’s it? We just wait until a transport happens upon us?”
“I know of no better way. We will have no way of knowing whether what comes on us is filled with soldiers or water, and we do not have the time to learn their routines or routes. We will keep our weapons hidden, and when they stop, we move.”
“If they stop. There is a good chance that a Progerian driving a large vehicle will not slow for two lost Genogerians.”
“He will stop if for the sole reason he will not want to wipe our blood from the front of his truck.”
“That is a comforting thought, Parendall. He will stop because he does not want to take the time to clean up what remains of us from the front of his vehicle.”
“Now you understand.”
“Why was I not given the option of staying back with Drababan while you and Demeta discussed your insanity?”
“Because she would never have allowed this plan to be enacted. That is why.”
“Because she is smarter than you or I; this plan sounds as terrible as any I would have come up with.”
“I knew you would see it that way.”
“I do not like it, Parendall but you have saved my life twice and I am and will always be indebted to you.”
“I do not want gratitude to be the driving force behind your reasoning, Ziva, if you have a better thought, then now is the time to express it. We are no longer soldiers in the Genogerian army; there is no rank between us. We are equals.”
“You are right, Parendall, we do not have time to make a better plan. We will do what is necessary.”
They jogged the remaining miles until they came across the roadway. They looked over at each other and slowed to a walk.
“We should practice pulling our rifles from behind our back,” Ziva recommended.
Every few feet for the first few miles they would stop and quickly pull the rifle from the backpack it was adhered to and have it at the ready. When they were satisfied they had the necessary speed to startle their enemy, their attempts were farther spaced and only done as a way to calm their nerves from the impending confrontation.
The sun had gone down and Parendall was just about to call for them to take a break when he spotted lights off in the distance moving towards them.
“Perhaps we should at least get to the side, Parendall. He may not hit us deliberately; it may be a case of him reacting too late.”
“You are right.”
Both Genos stood tall as the transport came over a small rise. The large machine stopped twenty feet from them.
“What are you two thick-headed freaks doing out here?” the driver asked as he stepped down.
“We were looking for a ride,” Parendall said as he shifted his rifle out and had it pointed at the Prog. “It appears that we have found one.”
“My name is Third Officer Jaudent and you…you can’t pull a rifle on a superior Progerian,” he protested.
“Perhaps you are right, but I do not believe any Progerian to be superior to any Genogerian, so your argument holds no validity.”
“Put it down!” Another Progerian had exited from the far side. He was holding a small blaster.
Ziva swiveled, quickly pointing his rifle at the other. “I will be forced to remove your head from your body if you do not yield,” Ziva said evenly.
“Looks like we have some savage pets here.” Hofrom, the one with the small weapon said.
Ziva moved forward cautiously, his rifle never wavering. He placed the barrel directly against the Progerian’s skull, Hofrom had been pointing his weapon at Parendall.
“Pet? You consider me a trebilow? I do not wish to kill you, yet I will. On second thought,” Ziva said with a wicked sneer, “perhaps I do wish it. It would be best if you yielded your weapon without further incident.”
Hofrom pivoted quickly; Ziva fired. At the extreme close range, the effect was unnerving. From his shoulders up there was not much left of the Progerian passenger. He fell straight to his knees and then quickly dropped to the side, his body jerking spasmodically.
“You…you will die for this you animal!” Jaudent shrieked.
“I believe we would have died had we done nothing. Nevertheless, his death was unfortunate. Will you join him or not?”
Jaudent looked over to his still twitching companion. “I…I wish to live.”
“You just may. We have much work to do together, and if you cooperate, you will live to see another glorious day.”
Jaudent was on the edge of loosing a verbal tirade but thought better of it.
“What is in your transport?” Parendall asked.
“Nothing you would understand,” Jaudent spat.
“We are not starting off well. Ziva, do you wish to persuade him differently? It is a simple matter to survive on fewer limbs.”
“Wait, wait. It is an advanced ship-detection system. We were to set it up in the Betreden Valley.”
Parendall and Ziva gave each other a knowing look; they had narrowly avoided disaster. A day later and they may have been discovered. Parendall considered that a good sign that their mission was destined for success.
“We will need to get rid of that. We are in need of food, water, and fuel cells.”
“Fuel cells? What do lowly Genogerians need with ship power supplies?” He’d asked the question and after a few seconds, realization began to dawn on him. “You are the escaped Genogerians from CS-7T; I thought that story was myth. That happened nearly three cycles ago! How could something like you still be alive?”
“I am not sure if you mean to be so denigrating, or if it is so ingrained in your culture that you know no other way, but it is beginning to chaff on my friend’s nerves and he is liable to do just about anything if it continues.”
“I am?” Ziva asked.
“Yes, you are,” Parendall informed him.
“My companion is right as always. There is no telling what I may do if I get upset.”
“How far is it to your base, and can we obtain fuel cells?”
Jaudent said nothing.
“Shoot him Ziva. Chances are good he would have lied anyway and we can figure this out on our own.”
Ziva raised his rifle.
“There are ten thousand Progerians on that base. You cannot just drive in and take what you want; plus you do not know where to find the things that you need.”
