Forever's Not Enough (Galactic League of Planets) Read online

  And Zandill as a planet had remained shrouded in mystery even after entering the Galactic Union of Trade and Investigation. Very few, if any, off-planet visitors were allowed. A planet half the size of Meline with a known population of less than thirty-two million, their history still hadn’t been absorbed into the great Galactic Union history banks for correlation with all known histories to further galactic understanding of how life in the universe evolved and migrated.

  Their relationship with Zandill was relatively young, less than 200 years, and a diplomatic incident almost 70 years ago, just before she’d been born, had brought an abrupt end to what had been a flourishing cultural and economic exchange.

  An odd mix of medieval earth and something like the Handrac industrial revolution period, Zandill was an eclectic mix of landlords, war lords and technology lords.

  From feudalism to capitalism to technal-ism, the face of the planet and its people had changed drastically in the last 100 years. And, as luck would have it, the expansion of capitalism and a new industrial base had put a strain on an already weak eco system, leaving Zandill on the cusp of a meltdown with constant droughts, water shortages, dry winds that hampered crop production, and lightening storms that provided a source of fire for the tinderbox the surface had become.

  Then they’d become aggressive, or so the story went. In a state visit to Meline to discuss aid in the form of keely-landac crystals, abundant and unused on the King moon, to stabilize and rebuild their eco system, the very premier who was lavishing them with food and drink, had kidnapped her aunt and was responsible for the death of her aunt’s life mate.

  There had been angry words, an angrier war, and a permanent break in diplomatic ties between the two worlds that was still in place today.

  Slicing a bite of lundan yellow meat, she dipped it in sauce and contemplated the man who had brought such contempt and anger to both worlds. She found his features harsh, but oddly attractive in spite of no body hair, a purple tinged scaly skin that was smooth and featureless beyond a spider web of overlapping contact points, his eyes intelligent, and at times, mirthful. He carried himself with the measured grace of a warrior, but did not have the build of one. Premier by birthright spoke of royal blood, but he lacked the arrogance and disdain many royals harbored.

  And his sister was a delight. Comfortable with her position, even witty, and concerned first with the Zandill people, second with her brother the premier, and lastly, if at all, with herself.

  She felt a need to speak with her mother and learn more.

  When the Premier stood and raised his goblet, and with a warm smile in her direction, said, “To the lovely Princess Peenzan. A Meline flower on this godforsaken rock! Stokah! And hopefully not the last we will see!”

  She smiled and replied with the Meline equivalent, “Hytonne!”

  Turning to Hill, the premier continued, “And to a man, even if he is a mere earthling.” And a smattering of good-natured laughter traveled around the table. “I believe him to be a most worthy advisor, and if such a thing is possible in the corporation, a man of honor! To Sergeant Hillsborough! Stokah!”

  She felt it start and blushed, hoping no one else caught the soft purr of pride that rattled her chest. At the same time she felt a tug of anguish when she saw Hill raise his goblet awkwardly and join in. No, my Hill is not a man of presumptions and pride. He is a simple man of honor and deed.

  When her purr deepened, she did not try to hide it.

  * * * *

  “Well, I think we must act quickly. What do you think, Blake?”

  Sitting at his D screen in his cramped quarters on the Meline moon, he cringed at the question. He hated it when his opinion was sought. It meant only one thing. That blame would follow if things didn’t go as planned. It would be his head that rolled if the insurgence failed. As well, he knew, the reward would be just as great if he could pull this off.

  “I think we have no choice. We must move quickly before the Meline learn the truth.”

  “My thoughts exactly. Now, how do you plan on taking care of this, well, situation?”

  He watched the chairman drag his finger through his tray of Rangdon spice and wondered why he even bothered to report to the man.

  When he caught sight of Lucy Lighton over the chairman’s shoulder, he knew exactly why.

  * * * *

  The room was dark with huge windows on three of four walls that looked out on a dry and barren landscape of exposed black soil dotted with stunted trees that were twisted and sad looking. She could barely hear the howl of the wind and watched sheets of dust swirl from tree to tree.

  A traditional fire of chopped roughhewn wood burned and crackled in a fireplace on the fourth wall and it was just the four of them.

  Spaced around the walls above and beside the windows hung weapons and trophies, a strange and startling display of Zandill wildlife that spoke of a long history of hunting and aggression. On a table she saw a small collection of medals, and on another a collection of static 3D pictures of Zandill men in uniforms and state dress.

  The furnishings were utilitarian and made of roughhewn wood. The finery of the state dinner had been replaced by the bare essentials of a man’s room, or she thought, the lair of a warrior.

  Her goblet was heavy and worn, the floor covered in the resplendent fur of some animal, and the air smelled of centuries of sweat and wood smoke.

  Her purr had settled but not subsided completely, and she took pride in watching Hill follow the Premier around the room, taking interest in each artifact’s history as family stories and antidotes were told.

  He looks at ease, comfortable at last. A full head taller than the premier, his shoulders twice as wide, they made an odd pair hefting swords and bludgeons, and sipping Zandill brandy.

  The premier’s sister had left to tend to something and Peenzan was growing impatient, and given the state of things between her thighs, needy. When Hill’s eyes found her and he smiled, she stepped up to listen.

  “…my grandfather. He carried it during the dark-star conflict over 500 of your earth years ago. A beautiful piece of craftsmanship.”

  She watched Hill heft the sword and swing it away from them while saying, “I really don’t know much of your history, but something has been bothering me for a few days and that’s why we’re here.”

  The premier smiled. He knew this wasn’t the reason for his visitor’s presence, but it was a place to start. “Ah, you’ve come for a lesson in history. And Zandill history, at that! Wonderful!”

  She watched Hill sheath the weapon and waited.

  “Well, I’ve fought Zandill Death Warriors. I was involved in the conflict at the UC moon base a few years ago.”

  “Yes.” The premier was attentive. “Most unfortunate, that. Some, I believe you would call them rabble-rousers, that thought we would be better off expelling the UC and keeping something we have absolutely no use for to ourselves.”

  “Well, that’s the part of history I don’t understand. Why would the Zandill, a proud people, a fiercely independent people, allow a foreign world to fight a conflict for them? More importantly, something that should have been a very personal conflict, at that?”

  She slid her hand around her lover’s arm and noticed he had tensed slightly. This is it? This is what we’ve come for? So he can ask a question about the protocols of war and war making? She’d had enough and was prepared to say so, until she caught a defiant glance followed by one of resignation from the premier.

  When the premier finally spoke, the life, the spark of mirth, the very soul was gone from his voice. “Yes,” he agreed, “Why would we?”

  “I’ve made arrangements.” The premier’s sister came sweeping into the room. “You will be staying in…”

  The premier wandered aimlessly to a window and stood with his back to the room, hands clasped behind his back, watching dust devils dance on the barren soil beyond.

  Hill gently lifted her hand, kissed her cheek, and left her standing alon
e. Stepping up beside the premier she heard him say, “I want to help.”

  “Why would you? Why on Zandill, or any planet for that matter, would anyone want to?” The premier sounded angry and hurt.

  She couldn’t imagine what they were talking about. Looking at the premier’s sister standing close to the fire, she watched a sadness fall on the woman’s shoulders like a stone and a single tear roll down a weary cheek.

  She couldn’t stand it anymore. “What? Help with what? I must ask that you forgive me, Premier, but you’ve been raiding our planet and killing our people for the last six months. Why on Meline would anyone want to help you?”

  “Because it wasn’t the Zandill that raided your planet.” Hill’s response made no sense.

  “But I saw them! You saw them! They were there!”

  Hill remained mute and waited.

  The premier finally stepped away from the window, rubbed his hands together as if warming them, and smiled. “Yes, Princess, so I have heard. Here, sit with me by the fire and I will explain.”

  Chapter Five

  Crenshaw marveled at the carpet of Zandill warriors that covered the floor of the cavernous shipping base on the Queen moon of Meline. Leaning over the railing, he could make out neatly sorted piles of arms and munitions waiting to be picked up as the Death Warriors streamed into the transporters to reappear in the royal sector below on the Meline planet.

  No, he thought, there will be no mistakes this time. No bomb planting or theatrics. They would simply sweep in, kill everyone in sight, the royal family included, and put up the Zandill flag.

  Then, with the royals gone, the UC can come to the rescue, banish the Zandill forever, and walk away with whatever they want from a grateful planet. Did it really matter that they wanted the entire planet?

  Yes, he decided, a hundred thousand should do the trick nicely.

  When Lucy Lighton leaned close he shivered. “How soon will it start?” she asked.

  Looking at his watch, he explained. “Nightfall is in ten hours. We’ll wait till then.”

  Her hand ran down his back, across his ass, and between his thighs where she grabbed a handful of material and balls, and squeezed, “Good. That gives us at least eight hours to negotiate.”

  * * * *

  She couldn’t believe it. It can’t be true. How could they have? How could her father have denied Bast? It was blasphemy!

  “No, this can’t be!”

  “I know it must be a shock, Princess, but I swear by Djark that all I tell you is true. And, if you prefer, I will swear by Bast as well!”

  Hill had settled beside her on the large couch facing the fireplace, and it was his arm around her shoulders that provided an anchor in this storm of lies and untruths.

  She was adamant, “It can not be done! No Meline would allow it! You lie!”

  Zad only smiled and looked at his sister sitting in an armchair a few feet away. Finally, with a note of belligerence, he offered, “Ask your father.”

  “Even if it were true, it does not explain the Zandill Death Warriors that have been invading my planet!”

  “You are right, Princess, it doesn’t. But, truth be known, I could barely muster enough Warriors for a good hunting party on this Djark forsaken planet, much less invade another…”

  “But the Zandill are the most feared warriors in the galaxy!” She jumped up, planted her feet, and stared down incredulously at the premier. “Your kill rate is highest, your warriors the bravest, and your arsenal of weapons the deepest…”

  “And how I wish that were true.” The Premier came to his feet and walked back to the window where he rocked on his heels, silent and somber.

  “You deny conquering a million soldiers with less than a hundred thousand in the dark-star wars?”

  “Of course not,” Zad shot back.

  “Was it not the Zandill that quelled civil unrest in the Blue moon system only sixty years ago? And you did it with less than two hundred death warriors against more than two hundred thousand rebels!”

  “You know much of Zandill’s history, Princess,” came out as a sarcastic accusation, then Zad added, “About the Zandill raiding your planet, you might want to ask the good sergeant. I believe that is what really brought him here.”

  Her head felt light and she knew all semblance of self-control was gone, “I know enough to know you are telling me nothing but lies and more lies! No wonder my father doesn’t trust you!”

  When the premier spun on his heel, she saw Hill jump to his feet and felt the warmth of his body against hers as he took up post against her back.

  The arrogant prick stopped short and growled, “Your father, Princess, is a stubborn bigoted ass, but he certainly is not stupid and I would guess his daughter isn’t stupid either. You don’t believe me?”

  She sniffed as if a foul stench had come close and said simply, “No, I don’t.”

  “Then find him! Bring him here! Ask him to his face!”

  “So you can kill him? Ha, you think me a fool!”

  She cringed when the premier stepped closer and stated flatly between clenched teeth, “If what I say is true, I would die before I could harm a Meline and you know it.”

  Hills big hand fell on her shoulder and she suddenly realized the premier’s wild-eyed look was not unbridled arrogance, but overwhelming desperation, and her resolve wavered.

  The premier’s sister stepped up and touched his shoulder, her voice soft, imploring, “Zad. Let it be. You must not torture yourself like this.”

  Zad jerked away and unsheathed the sword he and Hill had been inspecting earlier, and blade in hand, offered it to Hill.“Here, he can kill me if he suspects anything! I will not resist! Now find him and bring him here!”

  She looked at Hill and found her rock, calm but attentive, his big hand wrapped around the hilt of the sword, the blade glinting menacingly in the firelight.

  * * * *

  He didn’t know what they expected him to do. As a voting member of the board of the directors in charge of expansion, Jandron Finnegan went over the projections a third time and cursed. How can this be?

  While building a deep space vessel capable of two hundred times the speed of light and housing a billion people was a daunting task in and of itself, doing it ten times was overwhelming.

  And then this. How on earth could they expect him to meet the production schedule if the soil needed, a special mix of inorganic material, silicates, and zinc, was not made available as promised? Without the soil there would be no ceramic outer skin to protect the starship’s vulnerable cargo from the ravages of hitting a grain of sand at 37.25 million miles per hour in the vacuum of space.

  He sighed and set the production schedule aside, and fished out another report that was just as distressing. The helium 3 currently under contract in the known galaxy would be just enough to get the ten ships halfway to their targets. Then the light-beam drives would go dark, the ships artificial eco system would fail, and everyone would slowly freeze to death.

  Turning to his D screen, he punched up the chairman’s office and asked for an emergency board meeting.

  * * * *

  It had been a long day, and Peenzan was tired and angry and needy. She alternately cursed and blessed Bast for her mate whose imposing presence kept her chest rattling and had her so wet she wondered if she’d start chiming.

  The transporter room which was really only a big cavern carved out of solid rock below the surface of the planet, the same room they’d arrived in earlier, was depressing and in spite of her misgivings about the wild claims the Premier had made, she felt sorry for the Zandill people and the dead ravaged state of their planet.

  Even under such harsh circumstances, Hill’s hand finding hers brought a smile to her face and she selfishly leaned into his arm, and if only for a few heartbeats, let her purr run wild.

  When the premier’s sister looked over and smiled, almost knowingly, she leaned away quickly and swallowed hard. Bast! I hate you Bast! I will always ha
te you! You are a…

  The hum of the transporter saved Bast from further verbal abuse, and she was shocked to find the transporter filled with Meline fighters and a very frightened Pran.

  Before anyone could speak the fighters, ten of them, filled the receiving chamber, weapons at the ready and Pran ran to her side.

  “Princess! How can this be? The Queen and King are coming! Here! To Zandill!”

  Before she could respond, the transporter hummed again, and in full royal regalia, her mother and father appeared along with a handful of aids and two more Meline fighters. And no one else. Turning on the premier she scoffed, “See! She didn’t even come with them! You lied!”

  Then she felt it. At first she thought it was her own chest and swallowed to stifle the rumble, but it reverberated off the rock walls and filled the cavernous room. When the woman stepped forward, she didn’t recognize her. She had never, in her entire life, seen her aunt dressed in anything but her black robe of mourning.

  Her jaw dropped and she stared openly when her aunt ran into the premier’s arms crying. Her mother smiled and when she found her father’s eyes he looked away. She was on him in two strides. “How could you!”

  Her mother stepped up and touched her shoulder. “Be kind, Daughter. There is more you do not know.”

  “But how could he deny that which Bast ordained?”

  “There, there, my child. At last it has been fixed.” Her mother touched her chest. “I think you have more important things to tend to.”

  * * * *

  As soon as the premier’s sister pulled the two heavy doors shut, she was kissing him while his hands explored her back, his fingers playing with her back-fall. In spite of his size she shoved on his chest and pounded his shoulder until he backed into the middle of the room.

  She came alive with the feel of his hands on her skin, and they both tore and tugged at each other’s clothing. She moaned when his mouth found hers with a hunger that said he felt the same need, the same desires she did.