Donning reclined in his command chair, which fortunately had been designed with the possibility of sleep in mind. The alien attack had lost its intensity after they'd expended their one-shot weapons against the Bolo, then finally ended without incident about dusk. Casualties were minimal. Donning felt that next time he'd know even better how to fight the aliens.
He could have gone back to his bed when the fighting ended, but surprisingly, he felt more comfortable here. He watched the sun come up on the big screen, ordered his breakfast brought up, then dozed for a while. It was midmorning when the call came from Houchen, the call he'd been anticipating, and dreading.
"Commander, I just got word that New Marikana is under intense attack. They've got their own brand of aliens, orange stripes and cruise missiles, and they're just not ready. They haven't had a bit of trouble until now. In fact, they were still running mining missions until yesterday."
"You need to go."
"I'm afraid so."
"Then go." He racked his chair upright, rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, and checked his status screens.
"We both knew this was coming."
"I think we've got a handle on it, Colonel. We can hold out until reinforcements come. The auto-turrets are finally completely integrated with the new command and control system, so we should be able to handle our own antimissile defense. Go."
"Thanks for taking this so well, Donning. You're a fine officer."
"I'm a man doing what he has to do," Donning said. "I think that describes all of us here." He watched the Bolo on his screen. Already it was making maximum speed and headed away.
"With luck, Khan and I or one of the other Bolos will be back here in a couple days. Signal if you get trouble."
"Will do."
"One more thing, Donning," Houchen said, "you might have some help here sooner than you think. Our ships are picking up that Bolo mining machine from Odinberg, and it's on the move."
"You're kidding?" Donning asked.
"Nope," Houchen said. "It stopped for a while, but now it's moving again, toward you. We haven't been able to contact it though, so we don't know what sort of fighting shape it's in, or who's on board. It could be something to help with your defense, or just more survivors to take care of."
"We'll take care of it."
"Good luck, Commander."
"I just hope we won't need it," Donning said. But he knew better. They were going to need all the luck they could get very, very shortly.
A blip sailed across one of his screens, an incoming harassment missile. As he watched, the west auto-turret snapped around and blew it out of the sky.
Donning chuckled. "Open for business."
Lord Whitestar paced from one end of Scarbeak's chamber to another. "What do you mean, the ogre has gone?"
Scarbeak looked up from the new weapon he had been studying so intently. "Just that, lord. A runner returned from the meadow's edge just moments ago with the news. The ogre has left the area of the human nest and is moving northwest. Perhaps the new weapons we used hurt it more than we believed, or perhaps one of the other clans is attacking a nest in that direction, and the ogre is responding to their calls of distress."
Whitestar kicked over a stack of modules in anger, before he realized the sacrilege of what he had done. He quickly inspected the modules to be sure their lights-of-function were still lit, and stacked them neatly. "Forgive me, Scarbeak. My blood runs as hot as a new chick's. I have spent these days preparing myself to kill the ogre, and now it is snatched from me."
"The ogre is gone. Is that not what we wanted?"
"This nest has proven to be far more difficult to destroy than the first, old one," Whitestar said. "That is what we want, but even without the ogre there, I am not sure that we can do it, and if we do not do it quickly, the ogre may return. And I still must meet Sharpwing in challenge."
Scarbeak looked surprised. "Surely he will not want to press challenge, now that the ogre is gone."
"The ogre is his key to a place of the honored dead," Whitestar said, "but it is my blood that he truly wishes to spill. He will not care that the ogre is gone, and I will have to kill him. If I do that, neither my eldest nor my first-wife will forgive me, and the disgrace will cripple my ability to lead."
"Then let your eldest lead. That was what you planned anyway. Refuse to fight Sharpwing. Dishonor is not such a terrible thing to live with. It might be your only hope to live as long as I have."
"He has only begun to recover from the wounds I gave him. If I give Sharpwing honor by refusing to fight, the hatchling will try to take control. Before his brother is recovered, he may have already led our clan to ruin, that we may taste death and defeat at the same meal."
Scarbeak put down his tools and looked up at his lord, gazing at him intently with the right eye of truth. "What if there is no future for our clan, my lord?"
"What foolishness are you talking about now, old man?" Whitestar demanded, staring at the old one.
"The warriors that carried the new weapons," Scarbeak said, not backing down, "indeed, even those warriors that were close when the weapons fired, they sicken, my lord. Their fur falls out in clumps, and they cannot keep down their food."
"We can make more eggs quickly," Whitestar said. He did not like what Scarbeak was getting at.
"True," Scarbeak said, nodding, "but the losses are staggering, far faster than even we can make eggs. So many die from the devil's weapons, and now more and more die from our own as well. Sharpwing's generation, or perhaps a few after him, could be the last."
"First my wife, now you. If that is the plan that the Ones Above have for us, so be it. But consider this, which of my sons should be leader, if our people are to live longest?"
Whitestar didn't wait for an answer, but instead kneeled next to the new weapon, a flattened disk half as wide as he was tall, with straps to hold it to a warrior's back for carrying. "How powerful is this weapon, Scarbeak?"
"Powerful enough to pierce the skin of the ogre and strike his heart, if you can place it underneath, or perhaps just close to his body at any point."
Scarbeak moved over and touched the weapon reverently. "Unlike the other Fists we have been given, this one strikes in one direction only, and the oracles tell me that it acts as a shield against the devil's weapons."
Whitestar stared at the object. It did have the appearance of a shield, but he didn't see how it would stop the great firebolts that came from the ogre. Still, he had to trust the oracles, trust the Ones Above. Many things were still in their control. "Scarbeak, could this thing pierce the walls of the devil's nest?"
"It might, my lord. In fact, I am almost certain it would. We have been able to damage those walls repeatedly, while we have barely scratched the hide of the ogre."
"And if I could break open their nest so that our warriors could slaughter them, it would shorten this war, save countless of our people's lives, and still serve the will of the Ones Above. Wouldn't that be worth the life of a lord?"
Scarbeak said nothing for a while. Then, "I'm old, my friend. I had always imagined that you would outlive me."