The Chronicles of Riddick - Alan Dean Foster [34]
Should have killed them when I had the chance, he told himself angrily, thinking back to the initial encounter with the patrolling platoon. He had been too cautious. Because of the child? Should have trusted his first instincts. Death invariably followed hesitation.
The child. With a last glance to make sure all of the Necromongers had left and that there was nothing in the immediate vicinity capable of following him, he jumped down onto the bridge and rushed off into the night.
VI
Eventually, mercifully, dawn came to Helion Prime. The sunlight washed out the light from the fires that continued to rage throughout the capital and other major cities. Locally, the last pockets of resistance were being overwhelmed and mopped up by Necromonger forces. Outside the centers of commerce and industry, all was relatively quiet. Unable to affect their own destiny, country folk listened and waited to learn of their fate. They had nothing to say about it. Having not participated in the fight, they would be equally shut out of the peace.
Like a gigantic black beetle, something massive and dark squatted in the center of the capital. Come to ground, the Basilica was even more impressive than it had been suspended high in the upper atmosphere. It towered above the surviving government structures, dominating them as easily as a lion would a pack of cowed foxes.
Preparations for the armistice had been prepared as meticulously as the battle plan. The Basilica faced the damaged but still intact capitol dome. Flanking it were the warrior ships. Soldiers lined up on both sides of the towering doors at the bottom of the Basilica. The doors had been proportioned to impress onlookers, not because the command vessel was crewed by giants. As martial music flared, the barriers parted.
Backed by his field commanders and principal advisers, the Lord Marshal stood staring out at the battered surface of Helion Prime. Even from his interior vantage point he was able to make out the capitol dome and the ranks of hovering warships. At his appearance, the heads of the ranked vessels began to dip in perfect unison: an aerodynamic bow. The aerial ballet could not fail to impress any who saw it.
Eminently satisfied, he started down the wide steps. “It is time. Let’s go replenish the ranks.”
Commanders Vaako, Scales, and Toal trailed him as he exited the Basilica and strode toward the waiting capitol dome. The Purifier was there, too. Falling in alongside Vaako was a woman who held no formal military rank, but whose attention everyone sought. That she was partnered with Vaako did not keep others from trying to insinuate themselves into her good graces—and elsewhere. Vaako was aware of such efforts. They did not rouse him to anger because he understood the motivation. Having seen, or more properly, been exposed to Dame Vaako, most men and not a few women could do little else. That she had chosen to partner with him was a matter of some pride.
“Never fails to inspire, does it?” she commented as they marched side by side. “Each time a dynasty falls. So much expenditure of effort, so much waste of treasure, all for naught in the end. As it always is, so it will always be.”
Leaning toward her, an annoyed Vaako whispered tightly, “This is the Procession of Conquest. Mark your words and remember your place.”
Unperturbed, she hooked her arm through his and nodded in the direction of the Lord Marshal. “Why? Do you worry he will overhear? He is too full of the moment of victory, too full of himself right now, to notice anything that does not reflect on his glory. As for my place, that is at your side, dear Vaako. From now till the UnderVerse come. Never doubt that.”
“I don’t,” he replied with conviction. Raising a hand, he pointed. “Look. The ceremonial final.”
A pair of Necromonger fighter craft had zeroed in on the huge symbol that crowned the capitol dome. A few perfectly placed charges smashed through its base. The symbol teetered unsteadily. Then, falling as if