When the Devil Dances

Horner considered his options for a moment then nodded coldly. “I’ll go get the artillery preparations arranged. I assure you that when you come up out of the water there will be nothing living between the Genesee and Mount Hope Avenue.”

“Ensure that the artillery is prepared to maintain that support,” O’Neal said. “We’ll need a curtain of artillery; I want to walk under a back-scratching all the way to our primary positions. And we’ll need an ongoing curtain until the support is in place. If we don’t get that, I’m not sure this is doable.”

“Agreed,” Horner said with a tight smile. He looked to the east as well and shook his head. “I’ll give you all the artillery I can scrounge between now and tomorrow morning. On my word.”

“Do that, General, and we’ll eat their souls,” Stewart said softly.

“We’re gonna do that little thing,” O’Neal said definitively. “Whether any of us survive is another question. And, Stewart: massage your AID. I want you to see if you can identify the incredibly smart Kessentai that came up with this bridge idea. Such intelligence should be rewarded.”

CHAPTER 3 Clarkesville, GA, United States, Sol III 1350 EDT Saturday September 12, 2009 AD

Oh, East is East and West is West,
and never the twain shall meet,
Till Earth and Sky stand presently
at God’s great Judgement Seat;
But there is neither East nor West,
Border, nor Breed, nor Birth,
When two strong men stand face to face,
tho’ they come from the ends of the earth!

— Rudyard Kipling

“The Ballad of East and West” (1889)

Tulo’stenaloor regarded the young Kessentai coldly. “Tell me again about this skirmish.”

“This what, estanaar?” Cholosta’an asked. The young scout-leader was clearly confused to be discussing the encounter. Especially with the “estanaar” of this large band. The term was both new and old, it was to be found in the net, but it had not been used in the memory of anyone in the Horde. It had connotations of “Warleader” and “Mentor” and even “King” in human terms. However, the days of the last estanaar were recorded thousands of years before.

“The sky fire,” Tulo’stenaloor said with a snarl. “This small battle.”

“There was no battle, estanaar,” the God King admitted. “There was only the sky-fire…”

“Artillery,” Staraquon interjected. Tulo’stenaloor’s intelligence officer flapped his crest in derision. “Start learning the words.”

“I am not a nestling,” snarled Cholosta’an. “I do not have to take this from you, Kenstain!” The term was a terrible insult, the equivalent of calling someone a eunuch. Kenstain were God Kings who had been removed for all time from the Battle Rolls, either by their own choice or by the decisions of the Posleen Data-net. Some were God Kings that had chosen not to engage in battle, but most were those unlucky in battle or who were unable to garner riches through either fighting or deceit.

Kenstain were useful on a certain level, they provided the minimal “administration” that could not be provided by the Net. But since they were unrecognized by the Net, they could not engage in legitimate trade and had to survive at the whim of their luckier or more courageous brethren.

No one liked Kenstain.

Tulo’stenaloor leaned forward and raised his crest. “If you say that one more time I will have you killed. You agreed to obey my orders if I led you to victory. Learn now that I was serious. I want your information, but not so much as to have my intelligence officer called such. Do… you… understand?”

“I…” The young God King slumped. “No… estanaar, I do not understand. I do not understand why it matters and I do not understand why I must be put through this. It is not the way of the Path.”

“Do not speak to me of the Path,” spat the older God King. He fingered the symbol dangling from one ear and snarled. “The Path is what has led us to this impasse. It is the Path which has hurled us into defeat on Aradan and Kerlan. We will use the Path when it is the way to victory, but the only Path in my encampment, the only mission,” he said, using the human word, “is to defeat the humans, utterly. It goes beyond this small ball of mud, it goes to the survival of the Po’oslena’ar as a race. If we do not destroy these humans, they will destroy us. And I will destroy them, root and branch, here and on Aradan and Kerlan and anywhere else they exist. Not for the Path, but for the Race. And you will either aid me in that, without question, or you may go. But if you say you will aid me and you question me or the officers I appoint to you then you will die. Do you understand me now?”