Nova War Read Free Page B

carrying out a pre-emptive nova strike against the Emissaries, in order to destroy their beachhead in the Orion Arm in one single devastating blow. And when those responsible were called to account . . . they would need to prove the absolute necessity of their actions, and let history judge them if necessary.
    The General twisted his manipulators in assent. ‘You needn’t worry, Trader. Our secrets remain quite secret here. I’m sure you will agree, given the circumstances, that we appear to be in precisely the kind of crisis that calls for clear minds to take unpleasant but necessary action, regardless of how drastic it might appear to the outside observer.’
    ‘And of course, it would be necessary for the ultimate weight of responsibility to be carried on the fins of one single Shoal-member,’ Trader added, the sarcasm clear and sharp in his words.
    ‘We both serve many masters, Trader. They must remain nameless by necessity. Otherwise, there might be speculation about a vast and ancient conspiracy to suppress certain truths from the greater population of the Shoal, which might ultimately destabilize the Hegemony. And that would never do, would it?’
    No, damn you, it wouldn’t. ‘No doubt you’ve volunteered me for the job.’
    ‘I’d say you’ve been preparing for this job all your life,’ Desire replied. ‘You’ve advocated a pre-emptive strike yourself often enough. Can you think of anyone else who could be trusted with such a task?’
    Trader briefly enjoyed a fantasy of the General being tortured by his own interrogators. ‘Our goal is to preserve our race, preserve the Hegemony, and preserve the peace.’ Trader paused before continuing. ‘Regardless of the costs.’
    Desire twisted his manipulators in a gesture of grim agreement. ‘Regardless of the costs,’ he echoed. ‘Our secret is finally out, Trader. Therefore our strategy must be swift, retaliatory and brutal. We propose destroying the Emissaries’ primary systems along their beachhead in this spiral arm. We would thus set the skies ablaze, but only for a short while.’
    And yet, Desire, think of the scale of such destruction. It would be enormous.’
    ‘Indubitably But not sufficient to bring the Shoal to an end -or so the Dreamers say’
    A high price for many of our client species to pay, is it not?’
    ‘Of course,’ Desire replied. ‘But, as I know you’ll agree, better them than the Shoal.’

Night’s End

One
    Dakota Merrick awoke, alone and naked, in a cloud-high tower on an alien world, and wondered for a moment if she was dead.
    She gained consciousness slowly, at first only dimly aware of her surroundings, eyes and lips sticky with mucus, breasts and hips pressed against an unyielding and deeply uncomfortable floor. Sunlight stabbed into her eyes as she tried to open them and she winced, turning away from the brightness.
    The air smelled wrong, tasted wrong on her tongue. A breeze touched the fuzz on her scalp, and on it was carried a riot of unfamiliar scents. She sneezed and coughed, trying to clear her throat. She reached up with one unsteady hand and touched her head, realizing in that moment that her hair had been recently depilated.
    She sat up, blinking and looking around at unfamiliar surroundings. Walls, floor and ceiling were surfaced in a grey metal etched with alien calligraphy, fine tight curls of vermilion or jade running in parallel or entwining tightly in intricate, indecipherable patterns.
    The only light came via a door, through which she could see clouds drifting across a blue-green sky that was slowly fading into dusk. Sunlight that wasn’t quite the right colour touched the bare skin of one of her legs, sending a sudden warmth into her brain.
    The air smelled so strange, a new-world smell, the scent of some exotic faraway place she had never been to before.
    The last thing she remembered . . .
    All that came to mind were moments of intense, overwhelming pain interspersed with far longer periods of