Shaka II by Mike Resnick Read Free Book Online Page A

be hundreds, perhaps thousands, of ships from Earth. I have no intention of being a cog in their war machine.” He paused. “Every army and navy must have a supply line. We’ll patrol the least likely route between DX Cancri and Delta Pavonis.”
        “The least likely?” asked the aide, frowning in puzzlement.
        “If I know the enemy requires supplies, don’t you think Commander Sanchez knows it too, and will patrol all the likely shipping lanes between the planets?”
        “If we choose the wrong route, won’t she think we are trying to avoid the battle?”
        Tchaka stared at him until he began shifting his weight nervously. “If even you now know that she will patrol the likeliest routes, surely the enemy knows it-and knowing it, will choose the least likely routes, where we will be waiting for them.” He paused. “The government will dispense with your services as of this minute. I will not have anyone demonstrably stupid offering me advice.”
        “But-”
        “You heard me.”
        The aide turned and left.
        “I hope there are no more like him,” Tchaka announced to the room. “I think I may kill the next one.”
        Nobody laughed.
        

11.
        
        It was three days later, as Tchaka held a preliminary meeting with his officers, that a Colonel Mbatha tried to kill him.
        Mbatha had the computer cast a Tri-D map of the neighboring twenty light-years, perhaps five feet on a side, top and bottom, into the middle of the room. Tchaka was indicating the routes he wanted them to patrol, where he wanted them to station their ships, when Mbatha pulled out a ceramic dagger, which hadn’t registered on the security devices, and tried to stab him between the shoulder blades.
        I don’t know how he knew it-there was no reflection in the galactic map, and Mbatha was absolutely silent-but Tchaka turned just as the colonel’s hand was coming down. His own hand shot out, grabbed Mbatha by the wrist, and the two of them stood, motionless, for a few seconds. Then there was a loud cracking sound, Mbatha screamed, and the knife fell to the floor.
        Tchaka placed his hands around Mbatha’s throat, and Mbatha tried to pull his hands apart. Again, the two were motionless, this time for almost a full minute. Mbatha’s eyes began bulging, and his attempts to free himself grew first more frantic, then progressively weaker. Tchaka stood still as a statue, no expression at all on his face, his fingers turning pale from the pressure he put on them. Then Mbatha went limp, and Tchaka let him fall to the floor.
        He turned to another officer. “Shoot him,” he said.
        The man stared at him, startled, but didn’t pull his laser pistol.
        “He may not be dead yet,” said Tchaka. “Am I expected to show him mercy so that he can try to kill me again?”
        The officer withdrew his pistol, pointed it at Mbatha, but did not fire. “I think he’s dead, sir. I see no sign of breathing.”
        Tchaka walked over, took the pistol from him, and fired a blast of solid light into the back of Mbatha’s head.
        “Now he is dead,” announced Tchaka. He turned the pistol onto its owner, aimed it between his eyes, and fired again.
        There was a stunned silence among the other officers.
        “He would not obey me with an incapacitated enemy,” said Tchaka coldly. “How could I-or you-trust him to do his duty against any enemy that was preparing to engage him in battle?” Another pause. “We will continue our briefing tomorrow.”
        They filed out, and he signaled me to remain behind.
        “That was the second,” he said when we were alone in the room.
        “There was another?” I said, surprised.
        “Two days ago.” He seemed unconcerned. “There will be more.”
        “We must double-no, triple-the guard around you,” I said.
        He shook his head. “I