The Course of Empire(119)

Aille began to pursue the matter, but had to break off the discussion for a later time. The battle in Salem seemed to be reaching a climax, and he turned his attention back to the screens and monitors.

* * *



The climax was brief and violently destructive. Kralik, he now realized, had deftly maneuvered the remaining defenders into a stronghold near the center of the city. It was a large, ornate-looking edifice, apparently the administrative center for the region. What the humans called "the state capitol," which seemed to have some symbolic significance to them. Perhaps the rebels thought Kralik would hesitate to destroy it.



But, he didn't. The edifice was isolated from the rest of the city by one of those large expanses of open terrain called "parks" that humans enjoyed—though this one, for no reason Aille could see, was apparently called a "mall." Kralik was therefore able to attack it ruthlessly, without fear that the destruction might engulf some of the human civilians who were still straggling out of Salem. He did not use his vulnerable infantrymen at all, except at the very end. He simply used his tanks and artillery to pulverize the structure, only sending in the infantry to look for survivors.



There were none, not there. Kralik had turned the building into nothing more than a pile of burning rubble.

* * *



By dawn of the next day, the fighting was all over. The jinau brigade had captured thirty-seven resistance fighters, most injured to some degree, and five more humans who were noncombatants but whom Kralik considered part of the rebellion.



"Probably support staff for the Resistance in this area," Wrot said. They watched the monitors, which showed the small band of dirty and demoralized prisoners being herded into vehicles by jinau foot soldiers. "Most of the real civilians had left before you got your act together."



"What act?" Aille turned to him with baffled-inquiry.



"It's a human colloquialism, endlessly adaptive," Wrot said. "Applied here, it means 'before you organized your troops into an effective unit.' "



"Interesting," Aille said. "I will remember that expression. At any rate—" He turned to examine what was left of the city. "—I intended the innocent to leave. There is no vithrik in killing those who do not wish to fight."



Kralik came on the monitors, seeking further instruction.



"Most of the city is still intact, I believe," said Aille.



"Yes, sir." Kralik's face bore no expression Aille could see beyond respectful attention. "Do you wish me to order the brigade to start razing Salem?"



Aille hesitated, but only for an instant. His sense of how vithrik worked with humans was becoming a strong and sure flow. "No, General. Your brigade has done its duty, and done it very well. I will have the Jao units carry out the city's destruction. They will begin as soon as you report your last soldiers have left."



Aille though he detected a trace of relieved-appreciation in Kralik's expression and posture. It was difficult to tell. The jinau general was superb at concealing his sentiments, almost like a human version of the Bond of Ebezon's Harriers.



"As you wish, sir." Kralik hesitated, for an instant. "It will take me some time to extricate all my troops."



Aille concealed his own amusement. No doubt it will. Kralik, like me, will give the civilians remaining as much time as possible to flee.



"That is understood and acceptable, General."



Kralik saluted and his image vanished from the monitor.



Aille rose from his seat. "And now, I must inform the Governor of our success."



He and Yaut exchanged a look. This, too, would be a battle. But Aille now felt confident in this arena of struggle also—and so, judging from his stance, did Yaut feel confident in him.



Confident in him, perhaps, but not necessarily in Aille's sense of flow.



"Wait," Yaut suggested. "Wait until Kralik has returned."



"Why?"



"I'm not sure, yet. But I think it will help to have the jinau present himself when you—" He gave a glance at Wrot, but obviously decided that the old bauta was in their full confidence. "—trap the Narvo. Again."



Subtle, Wathnak was not—its junior affiliate Hemm, even less so. Old Wrot's posture was one of pure and unalloyed anticipation-of-another's-misfortune.



"To witness that alone," he growled, "would make my personal service a great honor."





Chapter 27




Oppuk lounged in his hant and watched the visual link, fuming, his shoulders and the line of his spine stiff with outrage. The fighting had progressed far better than he had expected, once the campaign had been turned over to the jinau troops. It was affront enough that Pluthrak had assigned someone with no experience, as though this world were so easy to handle even a crecheling could do it. Now the young upstart and his natives had increased the insult by seeming to prove it so.