Back | Next
Contents

Seventy-One

A small pleasure barge rocked gently at the amirr's private dock on the Firth of Theed. Wavelets lapped and chuckled against her sides, while in the cabin, Elver Brokols dreamed unknowing. A large triangular head, a long muscular neck, rose smoothly from the water, and dripping, peered under the awning.

"Elver Brokols!"

A Vrronnkiess cannot whisper, can't even speak in undertones—not and form words. The sound jerked Brokols out of sleep, and he sat up, heart thudding. He'd been sleeping in the barge because tonight was to be the night of truth, and K'sthuump was his communicator.

"I have news for you."

He gaped, all traces of sleep blasted, and sucked air, wide eyes staring. "What?"

"The big ssips, your enemies, all are sunk! All of them! The sullsi did not miss one. And all our ssips are safe, coming home now."

Brokols felt suspended, as if he'd been away from his body and hadn't gotten back into it yet. As if in contact with it from outside. Mentally he stared at K'sthuump's words, examining them for meaning. All sunk. Our ships are headed home.

His mouth opened again, formed an O. The orderly assigned to him had wakened too, was staring from another couch, understanding none of it. K'sthuump continued.

"But the big-ssip people, a great number of them, have been fighting in the city. There are fires. [She used the Hrummean word.] The noises of fighting have all but stopped. I think they possess the city now."

Brokols swung both good leg and bad off the bed. "Thank you, K'sthuump," he said in his own version of sullsit. He'd slept in his clothes. Now he found his left shoe and pulled it on. The orderly had his crutches ready.

K'sthuump withdrew her fearsome head, and the two men ducked out of the cabin. Brokols' shay was still tied to a piling, its kaabor looking at them, munching the last of the grain in her nosebag. The orderly went to her, removed the bag and fastened the bit in her mouth, then boosted Brokols into the shay.

"Thank you, K'sthuump," Brokols called back. "I'll see you in the morning. Love you!"

"Love you, Elver Brokols!" she answered.

Then Brokols told his orderly to start, and they set off up the street, going home, where he had things to do now.

K'sthuump hadn't told him all she'd learned from Tssissfu. It would be soon enough when the schooners arrived back at Theedalit.

* * *

Brokols went directly to his wireless room and jotted a message in Djezian, then sent an "on-the-air" signal to the wireless wagon at the Gorrbian headquarters in Kammnalit. In his mind's eye he visualized a Gorrbian officer on a cot, or maybe a noncom, wakening to the raucous buzzer, muttering, swearing perhaps, wiping sleep from his eyes and sitting down at the sender.

Brokols' receiver burped the man's acknowledgement. Tense and at the same time calm, Brokols waited, giving the Gorballi time to grab pencil and pad. Then he began to send.

"Imperial Almaeic Army has landed here in Haipoor from His Imperial Majesty's fleet, and has taken the city. Your king has been executed. His Majesty the Emperor now rules Djez Gorrbul. He orders you to leave Makklan, return to Haipoor, and surrender to me. Did you receive me? Acknowledge. Kryger."

There was a lag, as if the duty man at the wireless in Kammnalit was rereading the message, trying to grasp what had happened. Then Brokols' sounder began to tap.

* * *

ACKD AS FOLLOWS STOP IMPERIAL ALMAEIC ARMY HAS LANDED IN HAIPOOR STOP HAS CAPTURED CITY STOP EMPEROR ORDERS US RETURN TO HAIPOOR AND SURRENDER STOP GRAND ARMY INTEL END COMM

* * *

Brokols leaned back sweating, and his hand trembled slightly. He wondered why. It seemed to him they'd surely pull out of Hrumma now, back across the isthmus, probably after requesting a cease-fire from the Hrummean field command. And probably they'd head for Haipoor. After that—Hopefully they'd fight the Almaeic army. It was hard to picture them turning themselves over to the Almites. And it had been the wireless man who'd ended communication, cutting "Kryger" off, so to speak.

The Almites! His people! He thought it to himself deliberately, alert for any feeling of guilt or dishonor. And found none at all.

Back | Next
Framed