By Force of Arms by William C. Dietz Read Free Book Online Page A

Hudathans were aggressive, impatient, and overly reliant on brute force. All of which suggested that DomaSa would come to him.
    DomaSa watched the sun, waited till his shadow pointed at his opponent’s feet, and launched a head cut.
    The War Omo flicked his head to the right, waited for the moment of full extension, and made the forward lunge.
    The Hudathan took note of the other being’s speed, parried the incoming blade, and recovered his ground.
    Encouraged by the small retreat, the Ramanthian brought his left foot forward, and timed the chest cut to coincide with the end of the movement. Steel flashed past his face, something tugged at his air mask, and his lungs sucked hot thin air.
    A murmur of approval ran through the crowd, and Senator Omo displayed the equivalent of a frown. Ambassador IshimotoSeven and Senator Haf Noother stayed where they were, but others edged away.
    The combatants continued their slow deliberate dance. The War Omo found that it was hard to breathe. Time was running out. He backpedaled as if afraid, waited for DomaSa to commit, and opened his wings. The wind rushed in, his feet left the ground, and the Ramanthian was airborne. His sword fell, found the Hudathan’s shoulder, and cut to the bone. Blood flowed and Senator Omo whistled his shrill approval.
    DomaSa cursed his own stupidity, shifted his sword from the right hand to the left, and parried the next blow. The bug could fly! How could he miss that? Gravel slipped out from under his boots as he fell.
    The Ramanthian beat his way forward—leg spurs at the ready. Shaped like claws, and razor sharp, they could rip through chitin. Still lying on his back, the Omo’s wings pushing air down into his face. the Hudathan slashed with his sword. Steel sliced through the outer surface of a leg, and the Ramanthian flinched.
    This was the opportunity DomaSa had been waiting for. The bug couldn’t land—not and stand upright. That would keep him in the air… or so the diplomat hoped. He rocked forward, found his feet, and surged upwards.
    The War Omo responded, or tried to, but discovered that his belly was exposed. Head Taker stabbed upwards, the Ramanthian screeched in agony, and Maylo closed her eyes.
     
    The War Omo fell, the Hudathan jerked his weapon free, and the body hit the dirt. A cloud of blood-red dust rose, the crowd fell silent, and the duel was over. Androids rushed to dress DomaSa’s wound and peers hurried to congratulate him.
    Senator Omo felt a terrible sense of sorrow and shuffled his way forward. The War Omo and he had been hatched within seconds of each other, had courted the Egg Omo as a pair, and promised many things. Visions, dreams, things that might someday be. Now they were gone, snuffed like cave candles, forever destroyed.
    Maylo actually felt sorry for the Ramanthian as he knelt on alien soil, gathered his loved one into his arms, and made his way up the hill.
    Haf Noother looked at Harlan IshimotoSeven. The clone shrugged. The Drac walked out into the arena, located the Ramanthian’s sword, and tested the heft Then, aiming for soil still damp with the Omo’s blood, drove the blade into the ground.
    Later, long after the visitors had left, night came, and the stars danced on steel.
    The vote came two days later. The result was never in doubt. Thraki membership was rejected, “pending further investigation,” and the cabal suffered a setback.
    Grand Admiral Andragna, his plans frustrated, left for Zynig47.
    Sergi ChienChu witnessed the vote, made his way back to his quarters, and palmed the lock. Once inside, the fold down desk sensed his presence, dropped into position, and spoke. “You have six messages waiting—one of which carries the designations ‘urgent,’ and ‘private.’ ”
    “Play it,” ChienChu said, dropping into his chair.
    “Congratulations,” Nankool said, as his likeness filled the holo tank. “The vote went just as we hoped it would. The cabal lost, and you won.”
    The President