When the Devil Dances

“I don’t think that violence settles everything,” she said. “And calling humans evil is pretty questionable, even my ex-husband who is about as close as it gets. But it is certainly the only language the Posleen understand. I… didn’t always believe that. But I haven’t been the same person since Fredericksburg.”

“I know,” he said, wrapping his arms around her. “You’re better.”

She leaned into him and nipped at his shoulder. “You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

“No, I’m saying that to get laid,” O’Neal said with a laugh. “If you feel better, that’s what they call a fringe benefit.”

“What? Again? Did you get a Viagra prescription?”

“For you, baby, I don’t need no Viagra!” O’Neal intoned with a waggle of his hips.

“What?” Shari yelped. “Now that is corny! Not to mention insulting!”

“Sorry,” the farmer repented with a laugh. “I must have been channeling Bruce Campbell there for a second.”

“Well, as long as you don’t come out with something like ‘baby, you got real ugly’ I’ll let you live,” she said with a kiss.

Later she ran her fingers up his spine and whispered in his ear:

“ ‘Bad Ash, Good Ash, you’re the one with the gun.’ ”

CHAPTER 21 Clarkesville, GA, United States, Sol III 0115 EDT Saturday September 26, 2009 ad

“So, Goloswin, how does it go?” Tulo’stenaloor asked.

The Posleen technician looked up from his monitor and flapped his crest. “It is going well. We have received a new piece of… intelligence.”

“Ah?” Tulo’stenaloor asked. “From the Net?”

“Yes,” Goloswin answered, gesturing at the monitor. “From a Kessentai who was on Aradan. It seems he has gained access to control codes for the metal threshkreen communications. We are now ‘in their net’ as the humans would say. This includes communications between the chief of all threshkreen in this land and the metal threshkreen. Also, there are other threshkreen who use this communications medium; among others your lurp friends. I also have their numbers and disposition in the entire U.S.; the only available unit is in its quarters in the area the humans call ‘Pennsylvania.’ It also permits entry to Indowy communications on the planet, few as they are. The few Darhel are still locked out, but it gives me a starting point to work on them as well.”

“Excellent,” Tulo’stenaloor said, flapping his crest in reply. “The assault starts tomorrow at midday. With this information we can know when the damned ‘ACS’ is coming.”

“We can change some of their information,” Goloswin said. “Make them think that things have been said which have not or tell them false items. But that will quickly be detected. Or we can simply listen in. As long as they do not realize that we are acting on the basis of the information they should never know.”

“That is good,” Tulo’stenaloor said. “I think we’ll just listen for now. Ensure that Esstu has this information.”

“I shall,” Goloswin bubbled happily. “It is so very timely!”

“Yes,” Tulo’stenaloor said, fingering his crest ornament in thought. “Very timely indeed.”

* * *

“Balanosol, your forces are a mess,” Orostan snapped. He cast a baleful eye over the Kessentai’s oolt and raised his crest in anger. The oolt’os were half starved, many of them showing prominent shoulders and backbones, and their equipment was falling apart.

The Kessentai, on the other hand, was a resplendent figure in gold and silver harness — he had enough heavy metal on his harness alone to feed his oolt for a month — and his tenar sported the heaviest model of plasma gun.

“I think,” the oolt’ondar continued, “that all things considered, you shall have the honor of leading my portion of the assault on the morrow.”

The conversation was taking place under the light of a half moon, just north of Clarkesville where the millions of Posleen were opening up and getting in position to begin the assault. It would be a three hour movement for the front rank from this rear assembly area to the forward assembly area in the ruins of Clayton. By the time they reached Clayton, they could be expected to be under artillery fire; not that that should last long for once.

“Well, I don’t think so,” Balanosol said, raising his own crest in defiance. “I have seniority over half these young nestlings, including your sorlan here. Let them take the honor of the front rank; I intend to survive this assault.”

“Do you?” Orostan hissed. “Then look you at the woodline.”

The Kessentai turned his head to the side and, in the dim light, saw the flicker of metal in the woods.