by J. F. Holmes
The other shook his head. “Yeah. He’s a good kid, and a patriot. You remember what that’s like.” The other man watched Quish’na silently and didn’t reply. “Like us once. We’ll have to remember his name when this is all over.”
The other man nodded, watching the young Karan disappear into the night, then dropped his cigarette and stepped on it. “Yeah.” He stuck his hands into his pockets. “Let’s go.” The two men started off into the night.
Quish’na made his way through the city, working his way through the downtown area of the colony. The riots had abated, and with the resiliency of colonists everywhere, the downtown area had come back to life. The steel shutters were off and the streets blazed with illumination. The neon lights, bumping music, and the smell of a dozen human and Karan dishes from the stalls and shops that lined the street filled the air.
He pulled out his phone and tapped out a code that sent out an encrypted ping, looking for his contacts. After a moment his phone buzzed, popping up with directions to a nearby restaurant. Looking around, he saw it—a small cafe wedged between a closed drugstore and a laundromat. The buzzing neon sign had a stylized smiling human face with a pirate hat on it, sporting a bowl of ramen and proclaiming in bold letters, ‘Jolly Ji’s Top Ramen’.
As he entered, a huge, bald-headed man at the host’s podium beamed at Quish’na. His smile was marred by a crudely repaired scar that ran down the left side of his face. “Hello, my young friend. Welcome to Ji’s. Have a seat.”
He jerked his head toward a table, and moved past Quish’na to the front door, flipping the sign from ‘Open’ to ‘Closed’, then locked the front door.
There was a group of figures visible at a table in the gloom. Quish’na moved to the table, looking around. The restaurant was dark, except for the single weak bulb over the table and light spilling from the kitchen, leaving them in a pool of dim light in the dark room.
One of the Karan gestured at an empty seat. “Brother. Have a seat. Tea?” Quish’na nodded nervously and sat. He accepted the offered cup, took a sip, and looked at his tablemates.
Around the table sat two human men, and two Karan, one male and one female. Their features were just visible in the dim light. The humans were nondescript. The Karan male was large, sinewy and well-muscled, and bore multiple scars on his face and neck, extending onto the front of his carapace, where they disappeared into his shirt. The female Karan had simply-styled hair and tan skin, with deep, dark eyes. Quish’na regarded with them with unease.
They looked at him expectantly. He knew what they called themselves, but was sure that they weren’t real names, so it didn’t really matter. He sighed and took out the envelope, then laid it on the table. They stared at it for a moment, then one of the humans, a man who called himself ‘Thomas’, reached out and unceremoniously ripped it open.
He scanned the single sheet of paper inside rapidly, shrugged, and handed it to the man across from him. “Looks like a sample of genetic code and a few lines in Karan.”
The man across from him peered at it. He said slowly, “Yeah. Sure does. I know a guy in the genetic lab here.”
The Karan woman spoke in heavily accented English. “Can we trust him?”
The human man, who only went by George, replied, “He’s one of us. Lost a kid on Ceti IV, shot by UN police for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. He’s no friend of the UN, that’s for damn sure.” The Karan bowed her head in acceptance.
The second Karan, his voice low and gravelly, said, “May I see the rest?”
George slid the paper to the Karan, who frowned, spoke rapidly in Karan, and showed it to the Karan woman.
She made a noncommittal motion, then said, “The Karan lines appear to be a poem. I don’t think it’s Karan; if it is, it’s not one we’re familiar with.” She picked up the paper and began to read.
“Things fall apart; the center cannot hold.
Mere anarchy is unleashed upon the world, the blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere the ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst are full of passionate intensity”.
She stopped and frowned at the paper. “Then there’s something scientific, then the genetic code sequences, and then it continues.” She tilted the paper to catch more of the dim light, cleared her throat, and continued.
“That twenty centuries of stony sleep,
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast is this, its hour come ’round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?”
She tossed the paper on the table. “It finishes with a date. Looks like it’s two weeks from now.”
The group sat in silence for a moment, then Thomas said, “That’s…spooky. What is it?”
From the darkness behind him came the powerful voice of the proprietor. “It’s Yeats. He wrote it about the feeling in Europe right after the First World War back on Earth. Don’t you colonials read any classics?” His scarred face was barely visible in the light. “And I can tell you what it is. It’s a warning. Something’s going to happen on that date.” He leaned into the light, looming over the table. “And friends, let me tell you,” his horribly scarred face curled into a cold, frightening smile, “I can guarantee you it isn’t going to be any good.” He leaned back into the darkness and out of sight. “It’s going to be no good at all.”
Quish’na said, “What are we going to do about it?”
Thomas and George exchanged a glance, then Thomas said, “We’ll take this up to the leadership. For now, sit tight and wait for instructions.” Quish’na nodded.
The Karan male said, “We cannot meet again. Our absence will be missed, and too many trips into the colony will make the Provincial Police suspicious.” He said to Quish’na, “Youngling, you will receive your instructions. Be bold. You’ll hear from us when the time comes.” He turned to the human men. “We stand ready. When you need us, you know how to get us.” He stood, as did the female. They gave a stylized bow. Quish’na realized with surprise that it was a style from the region of the Imperial capital, that without a doubt he was in the presence of Her Majesty’s Secret Police. The Karan woman gave him a sly smile, and they both left.
Quish’na sat back in shock. Did these humans know? He watched them poring over the paper closely, murmuring quietly. They clearly had no clue. He considered this for a moment, then stood and, without a word, left the restaurant.
FIVE – RESTRAINT
“Introducing Governor-General Juan Petron-Navarro of the United Nations Karan Scientific Exploratory Colony on Ross 145B, Citizen of the UN. Sir, in the name of her Imperial Majesty Queen Si’Kala the Fourteenth; We thank you for your attendance, and the UN colonists of the KSEC for their assistance.” Juan nodded his head and gracefully raised a hand at the small crowd of perhaps forty or fifty human and Karan dignitaries on hand.
The presenter, a stout Karan male clad in the bright colors of an imperial science minister, continued speaking, “With the assistance of the United Nations, this is the fifth magneto-hydroelectric power facility opened on the Southern Continent this cycle. Today we are one step closer to reclaiming our former technological status, without sacrificing our homeworld and her health!”
There was applause from the crowd. Juan plastered on his best politician smile and stepped to the podium, as he had hundreds of times before. He gave his speech as he always did. Thanking the local dignitaries, admiring the handiwork and industry, promising future cooperation of the two peoples. After a few minutes, he stepped aside and let the Karan local herd leader step up. He listened with half an ear, waiting patiently.
Eventually it was over. As the Karan version of the Southern Continent’s National Anthem played, he shook hands with the herd leader once more and strode confidently off stage. His security detail stood there, as did Diego, the assistant governor general, and one of his aides, a solemn-faced young man with Asian features. They fell into step and qu
ickly made their way to a waiting flitter. The flitter was one of three, a standard security measure for colonial administrators. The flitters lifted, settled into a ‘V’ formation, and set course for the colony.
Juan sat back in his seat and raised an eyebrow at Diego. Diego frowned slightly and said, “Sir, the additional troops are on their way down the elevator. I don’t know if it’ll be enough to secure the colony’s vital areas, should the unrest grow any worse. There are only a hundred left on the station as a reserve now. If we fail to keep the peace, we may be forced to call for assistance from the UNCS itself. That may take months.”
Juan nodded silently and looked out the window at the ground flashing far below. After a moment, he responded, “Diego, that must not happen. They’ll come with Battlecruisers. It’ll be an invasion force.” He paused a moment. “No, we must not. They aren’t dangerous unless they’re threatened. Who wouldn’t be?” He stopped again, thinking, then resumed, “Use the police we have. No lethal weapons are authorized. No firearms. No needlers. No slamsticks. Nothing that can even accidently kill. If our police kill even one of them accidently, it may be the spark in the powder keg.”
Diego arched an eyebrow and leaned back. “Sir, we may lose police that way. The rioters, Human and Karan alike, haven’t been exercising such restraint. They put six of them in the hospital yesterday, when an incendiary device was hurled into a police vehicle. They’re lucky none of them died. As I understand it, several of them will require extensive dermal regeneration therapy. ”
Juan nodded. “I understand, and it’s unfortunate, but we’d rather lose a few police and not been seen as brutal oppressors, because if they decide we’re a threat and bring in their Karan allies…” He stopped again and shrugged slightly. “Well, if that happens, nothing the UN can do will get here in time. The UN will retaliate, but we’ll be dead long before then.”
Diego nodded slowly. “Sir, the geneticists on the station have let us know that the Dabat virus is fully prepared for deployment. They have a system designed to deploy it from orbit that’ll make it look like micro-meteorites entering the atmosphere. Nothing the Karan have will be able to tell the difference.”
Juan turned to the other man. “I’ve come to a final decision about that.” He paused and stared hard at Diego. “Destroy it and data wipe the research.”
“Governor…we can’t…”
Juan cut him off, “Destroy it. I will not be party to xenocide.”
Diego frowned and leaned forward urgently. “You realize this was created and prepared on the orders of Security Minister Ahamed himself?”
“I do. And as senior Planetary Authority, I can countermand his orders if I deem fit, and I do. This is not who we are. It’s not who I am, and not what our faith teaches us. The strong are to care for and protect the weak, like the Holy Father cares for us. We won’t be a party to this. The Karan and the colonists will come around, and we won’t need to escalate to force.”
Juan leaned back in his seat and turned to look out the window again. The forest flashing by underneath gave away to a city, nestled up against a section of coastline marked with stunning white cliffs, then they were over the sparkling blue ocean.
Diego frowned. “You know, you may lose your position.”
Juan shrugged. “Perhaps. Perhaps not. We shall see. I’m not inexperienced with this, Diego. Have faith.”
Diego grimaced and sat back. “Very well. I’ll give the orders, but I’d like to go on record as opposing this. I feel it’s a necessary safeguard for humanity.” He paused, then continued, “We shall see if you can control this unrest, as you believe you can. I do pray for your success, Governor-General. Whomever they send to replace you may not be as…understanding.”
Juan smiled and changed the subject. “Next week, I plan to tour the Scientific Mission and the city. I haven’t been able to due to the unrest, but it seems to be settling down. Perhaps getting out to see the colony will show them we aren’t the enemy.” Catching sight of the look of distaste on Diego’s face, he laughed.
“Diego, my friend. Your aristocratic upbringing will be the death of you. How many times in human history have leaders blinded themselves to the plight of their people, and suffered for it?”
Diego replied slowly, “Many. But you’ll pardon me if I don’t think it’s a good idea for both of us to be in the same place at the same time.”
Juan laughed. “Of course not. Our security chiefs wouldn’t allow it anyway. I’m surprised they let us fly in the same flitter.”
Diego nodded. “Indeed.” He turned back to the window, stared out at the sparkling ocean below, and spoke very little for the remainder of the flight.
SIX – DESPERATE MEASURES
Quish’na sat in the park near Herd Leader Ki’Taran’s office and slowly ate his lunch. He wasn’t hungry, really, but the message had said it was a nice day in the park, which it was, and that a human-style sandwich might be good, which was also true. Eating slowly to stretch the time out, he washed it down with cold tea from a thermos his mother had given him when he’d been selected for his position as assistant to the herd leader. As he chewed his sandwich, he thought about the ominous message from the week before. He’d heard nothing until today. Taking the last bite of the sandwich, he crumpled the wrapper and stuffed it in his lunch bag.
Looking around one last time, he decided his contact wasn’t coming. Stretching and bending over to pick up his thermos, he crashed into a human man who, due to being much smaller than the Karan, went sprawling. Catching his balance, Quish’na leaned forward to help the man up; as he did so, he looked him over.
He was a mousy little man, slight of build even for a human, with brown hair, and spectacles that were knocked askew. He was muttering and scrabbling for a sheaf of papers threatening to blow away in the light fall breeze. Quish’na reached out and hauled the man to his feet, surprised at how light he was.
“A thousand apologies, Sir. I didn’t hear you coming.”
The tiny man turned a furious glare on him and muttered something under his breath. Quish’na crouched to assist him with his papers.
The man snatched the papers and scanned them rapidly, thrust one at Quish’na, and said in a harsh voice, “This is yours. And watch where you’re moving, fuzzy. I’m a citizen of the UN, and if you or your filthy shellback friends ever touch me again, even by accident, I’ll make your life a living hell. Count on it.” With a final glare, he turned and stormed off.
Quish’na glowered after him, his temper flaring. After a moment he turned and stormed toward his office building, with a thousand rebuttals finally crossing his mind now the man was long gone. He could never think of the right thing to say at the moment. Furious at himself, and at the arrogant human, he stomped into his office and hurled himself into his chair, slamming the thermos and forgotten piece of paper on the desk.
He sat glaring at the computer screen for a moment before clenching a fist in frustration, and then he saw something that made him sit bolt upright.
On the paper the little man had given him was a public encryption key and a secure address. He looked out the window reflexively, but the man was long gone. The square where he’d had lunch minutes ago sat as it always did. The flags were flying, and the lunchtime crowds were moving here and there like normal. Everything seemed to be in place and totally normal. He looked back at the paper incredulously. The little man had been his contact, and he hadn’t even known until he was gone. Apparently, they were much better at this than he was. He stared hard at the encryption key, committing the thirty-two digits and the address to memory, before shoving the paper in his office shredder, then dumping the contents of the shredder into the commode.
He sat, thinking for a moment, then decided to carry on with his day per his routine, and look into it that night. He thought about it a moment more, staring at his computer. He probably wouldn’t use his computer, either. Maybe the University library, or a public terminal downtown, would be safer. He nodded
, and with his course of action decided, he pulled his keyboard toward him and got to work setting the herd leader’s schedule for the next few months.
Later that night, Quish’na approached his front door. He was exhausted. He’d gone downtown again and sat in a bar, watching more of the abominable, never-ending cricket matches with a group of drunk UN bureaucrats for two hours, before leaving to seek out a public terminal. He’d opened the secure site with the key, but all he’d found was what appeared to be a map with a route highlighted around the city, and a date and time. It hit all the major spots, the Space Elevator Mooring Station, the research facilities, the ore movers, the Governor’s Mansion, the Old Empire Castle from the Pre-unification days, the recreation facilities, and all sorts of other useless sights.
Quish’na sighed and fished in his pocket for his key. Whatever he’d been sent seemed spectacularly useless. He located his key, disarmed the alarm with his thumbprint, opened his door, and stepped inside. The light spilling from his kitchen was enough to see the table, so he closed and locked the door and set his keys and phone down. He sighed again and stepped toward the kitchen. As he did, he kicked an object that moved. He looked down and, in the dim light, saw a package. He stared at it momentarily, puzzled, then with growing trepidation. His home had been locked and biometrically alarmed, yet someone had gotten in and left this without triggering the alarms.
He stood there for a moment more, then scooped up the package and took it into the hall bathroom—the closest room without windows—and closed the door. Once the door was closed, he turned on the light.
The package was wrapped in plain brown paper and tied with coarse twine. There were no addresses on it. He gently set it on the counter and looked at it, realizing how very foolish he’d been to pick it up. He gingerly looked it over, then leaned forward and listened to it. No ticking.
He sat back on the commode again and thought. He didn’t think bombs ticked, not modern ones, and if someone wanted to hurt him, it should have gone off when he’d moved it. Right?
