After the First Landings, the world had begun to change virtually overnight. And Wataryn had been uneasy ever since the day the ancient Neyel chief had come to Oghen bearing his so-called Proclamation of Friendship and Understanding.

Wataryn looked out at MechulakCity’s ever-changing skyline. In the distance, great plumes of thick, black smoke rose in columns like the legs of mythical colossi.

“The Neyel foul our air and water far faster than ever we did before their coming,” Wataryn said, casting several of his eyes skyward. “And they take much back with them into their Skyworld.”

“It could be as they say,” g’Isen said. “Merely the price of progress. But examine what we’ve gotten from them in return for what they ask of us, Presider. Before the Neyel, we could not even adequately feed ourselves. Nor could we do aught to ward off disease. The Neyel have not only put paid to those ills, but they also promise us the stars.”

“But can they deliver on that promise?” Will they deliver on that promise?

“The Neyel canply the space between the stars. Their starcraft demonstrate the truth of it.”

Starcraft our foundries now manufacture for them in great numbers,Wataryn thought, his stomachs rumbling as his distress mounted. His dual-thumbed hooves clattered on the floor as he’ turned to regard his advisor.

“And haven’t they also given you the office of Presider?” g’Isen continued before Wataryn could speak.

[237] Wataryn chuckled at that as he chewed on the tough flap of skin that covered his lips. He had worried it and tugged on it so often during the last two years that it now hung down nearly as far as the dewlap that dangled beneath his neck. What have I done to really question the Neyel and their oh-so-altruistic behavior? When have I ever publicly asked whatthey get out of their great munificence?

“I suppose they did well to back such a compliant leader,” Wataryn finally said aloud, despising himself for his weakness and timidity. “It would do no good to oppose beings so mighty and benevolent that the people treat them almost as gods.”

The chamber’s heavy door opened with a loud crash. In the threshold stood an office clerk, whose forehooves banged together nervously. Beside the clerk stood a tall, aggressive-looking Neyel who wore a simple black coverall which bore scores of military-looking decorations. The hard-skinned being’s slate-gray tail clutched at the door’s ornate bonetree handle, then slammed the door closed.

The clerk’s dewlap quivered when he spoke. “One of our Neyel b-benefactors wishes to see you, Presider.”

Wataryn nearly laughed aloud at the ridiculous obviousness of the clerk’s comment. “Yes. Yes, I can see that,” he said, trying to gather his dignity about him. He was surprised that he, too, wasn’t shaking. Being in close proximity to Neyel had always made him nervous.

“Drech’tor Hanif Wafiyy is dead,” the Neyel announced, his voice like thunder.

Wataryn had dreaded this moment ever since he’d first learned of the drech’tor’s great age and fragility. “That is sad news, indeed,” he said. It was no secret to Wataryn that many of the ancient drech’tor’s underlings had far less beneficent intentions toward Oghen and its people.

“And who succeeds the august Wafiyy in ruling the Great Stone Skyworld?” Wataryn continued, already dreading the answer.

[238] The Neyel drew a lethal-looking blade in one great, clawed hand and unholstered a massive pistol with the other.

“That need not concern either you or the rest of the Oghen cattle,” the creature said, its hard face somehow contorting into a vicious sneer. “Your continued service to the Neyel is all that need occupy your attention from this moment forward.”

At that, Wataryn finally did laugh aloud, while g’Isen and the clerk watched him with puzzlement written large across their faces. A perverse sense of relief flooded him, and the horrific tension in his stomachs abated somewhat.

At last, we are slaves in name as well as in fact.

Chapter 20

2265. Auld Greg Aerth Calendar

“The fleet reports ready, Sub-drech’tor Jonat,” the helm officer reported.

Jonat’s eyes were on the main viewer, where the Oghen homeworld slowly turned, the setting sun emphasizing the haze of orange and ocher that dominated its atmosphere. Several other Neyel vessels, all of them long, tapering cylinders that mimicked the noble lines of the Great Vangar Rock itself, were visible in lower orbits.

From nowhere else than high above Oghen was it clearer that this world, the nucleus of the Neyel Hegemony, was now all but used up. The time had finally arrived to annex some of the other worlds whose presence had been discovered since the consolidation of the historic conquest of this one. Their resources could be used in fairly short order to restore the Coreworld of Oghen to something approximating its former beauty and glory.

A pity so few of the Oghen cattle now remain down there as witnesses to Oghen’s coming rebirth,Jonat thought, considering the expendable indigie workers whose mortal labors had built the bulk of the newly commissioned fleet. Some of them were excellent stargazers and worldfinders. It’s a pity for[240] them that they were so ill-equipped to take and hold such worlds as their ’scopes could locate.

There were times, usually in the dead of night when sleep refused to come, that Jonat wondered if the slaughter of the Oghen had been truly justified. After all, the cowfolk were hardly the Tuskers of Neyel children’s bedtime tales. In fact, they were passive in the extreme, and had proved far easier to dominate than any other race the Neyel had encountered before or since. He sometimes secretly wondered what might have happened had the Neyel and the Oghen indigies gone out into the universe together as partners.

But it was self-evident that the Oghen were slaves by nature. And every Neyel knew that slaves could never be trusted as equals. Slaves, even seemingly passive ones, could only turn to treachery and rebellion in the end.

“Your orders, Sub-drech’tor?” the helm officer prompted, his club-headed tail twitching behind him. Jonat wondered how many times the young officer had had to repeat himself before capturing his attention.

“Acknowledge the fleet’s readiness. Tell them we move out now, on a heading for the primary target.”

Lirillia,Jonat thought, turning the name of the soon-to-be-subjugated world over and over in his mind. An attractive name for such a harsh ball of dust.

But a conquest was a conquest, and orders were orders. Of such small links were the mighty chains of empire forged.

“It will be done, Sub-drech’tor,” the helm officer said. Using both hands and tail simultaneously, the youth quickly set about pressing buttons and moving vernier switches. A throb of eager, barely-constrained power vibrated through the deck plates beneath Jonat’s feet.

All those decades we searched until we found Oghen, a world once so very like lush and fabled Aerth. And all the while we had forgotten that ever since leaving Aerth we Neyel have made ourselves capable of surviving and prospering on[241] any sort of world, so long as it is one we can wrest from whoever holds it. Now that we have sufficient ships and crews to take such worlds outright, let it at last be done.

Jonat’s gray lips peeled back from his rows of sharp, even, white teeth. “Engage,” he said, punctuating the command with an authoritative slash of his tail. “It is time to teach the sky who truly owns it.”

PART 7

VANGUARD

Chapter 21

Sulu stood in an iron-barred holding cell, along with the rest of the boarding party. After confiscating their equipment, their captors had ignored Sulu’s initial request to be taken to the ship’s commander. Now he listened, via the universal translators sewn unobtrusively into each of the team members’ field jackets, to the Neyel troops as they debated how the mysterious intruders got aboard their vessel without cutting their way in, and without any evidence of having been deposited by another ship.