by J. F. Holmes
The woman smiled tightly and replied, “Listen, kid. Your job is to be here around noon. Just stand there. Bring what you got in the package, just in case, but if all goes well, all you’ll be there to do is to help Ki’Taran out of the carriage.”
A wave of relief washed over him. “Really?”
The woman looked amused. “Really.” She handed him a card with a crossroads on it. “Be on the northwest corner. One of our people will find you. Remember, this is to help protect the colony and your homeworld from Navarro. He’s a monster and deserves what’s coming to him.” He accepted the paper hesitantly as the cab slid to a halt and the door popped open. She exited the cab, then leaned back in and spoke again in that hard, commanding tone, “Noon, on that corner. Don’t be late.” She slammed the door and the cab began moving again.
Letting out the shaking breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding, he tried to force himself to relax. The wait was almost over, the herd leader would be protected, and the Herd and the Colony would be safe from one of the UN’s ruthless enforcers. Feeling oddly cheered by this, he smiled slightly and turned his mind to perfecting the herd leader’s speech for tomorrow night.
NINE – SPARK
Quish’na arrived at his designated corner at exactly eleven thirty. He’d brought the pistol as instructed, concealed in his ventral plate band. It was almost invisible under his thick fall robes. He looked around nervously, and to make his waiting less conspicuous, bought a newspaper and a cup of human coffee from a vendor nearby.
He needn’t have worried. The street had been cleared of traffic, and light construction barricades blocked cross streets to clear the inspection ceremony route. The crowds had already started to gather. A governor-general’s inspection was a rare event, and it brought out protestors, vendors, and curious onlookers in droves.
With a slight shiver, Quish’na sipped the hot coffee, pulled his outer robe tighter against his shells, and pulled his neck down into his scarf. He reflected to himself that it was going to be a very cold winter if this early chill kept up. He checked his phone for the time. It was nearly noon.
Down the street he could hear the murmur of something happening—the procession, most likely. He stood on his toes and managed to see over most of the crowd, spotting the large, low bodies of the garnah, and behind it the taller, brilliant white of the governor’s coach. Quish’na managed to find a place near the street, where he had a relatively unobstructed view, and watched in fascination.
In front of the governor’s carriage marched a platoon of United Nations Provincial Police. Their uniforms and battle armor were spotless white, with helmets and dark visors. They marched in perfect formation, rifles shouldered. There was something very machinelike and soulless about them, but despite this, and his distaste for the UN, Quish’na found himself impressed with their discipline and precision.
Behind them came the garnah and the governor’s carriage. Their shells had been polished to perfection, and their harnesses and brass fittings gleamed. A single tamer in full dress uniform rode one of the four beasts, and directed their movements with gentle taps of his bat. The carriage itself was made of wood in the old style and painted a perfect white. It was magnificent.
The Provincial Police were now approaching where he stood now, and he could hear their boots striking the stone road surface in perfect sync. He looked back to the carriage and could see four people in it. The governor-general, a human man in red robes and a hat, a large man with shockingly red hair, and Herd Leader Ki’Taran. They seemed relaxed, talking cordially amongst themselves. On each side of the carriage two burly Karan Imperial Warriors strode, with their armor plates bolted on and deeply shined, helmets covering their heads, and bearing war clubs. They moved with a slow, smooth menace.
Quish’na was in awe, reflecting to himself that though he knew who and what would take place, the sheer simplicity and magnifici—There was a bright flash.
Quish’na’s world was suddenly upside down, and his body hurt terribly. He was confused, and tried to look around, but all he could see was dust and smoke, and he was very woozy. There was a terrible high-pitched screeching that wouldn’t stop, and the ground and sky under his head and shoulders were spinning around each other.
He opened his mouth to say something, anything, but couldn’t find his breath. He couldn’t seem to figure out what was happening. He finally got a hand on something solid out of sight beside him. He pushed hard on it and it didn’t move, though his arm howled in pain. He gritted his teeth, reached out again, and pushed, then felt himself move, and flopped onto his ventral shell, landing on his face with a crash that rattled his teeth.
After a moment the ground stopped moving, and the screeching started to ease. He stretched his neck out and pushed himself partially up with his hands. He peered around. There was smoke everywhere, and little bits of things gently falling all around him. Paper? Wood chips? He blinked several times rapidly to clear his eyes and noticed the woman in front of him. She was a human woman, with very light hair, and pretty blue eyes. She was holding her leg with a blank look on her face.
Quish’na noted with strange detachment that her leg was gone from the knee down, and she was sitting in a pool of dark red blood. He tried to push himself to his knees, when he noticed another human. This one appeared to be a child, a boy of perhaps ten cycles. He was lying face down with a very large, wet area on the back of his head, and he was very still. Quish’na averted his eyes and looked back at the ground in front of him.
He managed to work himself to his knees and blearily looked around. There were humans and Karan everywhere, some running, some sitting, some screaming, some lying very still. His gaze moved to the UN Provincial Police. Some were slowly making their way to their feet, and others were still, with bright red blood staining their once immaculate white armor. Here and there, one or two of them were trying to aid each other.
Quish’na shook his head again. The screeching was fading, and now other, horrible sounds were becoming clear. Screams, shouts for help, alarms, and sobbing. He looked back at the woman. She now lay on her back, her beautiful blue eyes staring wide open at the sky. She wasn’t moving.
Quish’na forced himself to his feet and took a step, unsteadily. He was supposed to do something…what was it…He took another step, then he saw the carriage.
The carriage and the garnah drawing it had taken the brunt of the blast. The garnah were lying in the road, dead or dying, with their tamer nowhere in sight. The carriage itself was flipped onto its side. There were several bodies lying there. Quish’na realized with a start what this meant. He tried to run, but fell onto his face. Clawing his way back up, he took several deliberately unsteady steps toward the carriage. Several more, and he could see the occupants. The human in red robes and the governor-general were lying on the pavement, the man in red face down, the governor facing the sky. The big human man in black was sitting on his backside on the cobblestones, with his legs straight out in front of him, looking dazed.
Quish’na moved a step closer. He shook his head again to clear it, and then he saw him. Herd Leader Ki’Taran lay beneath the wreckage of the carriage, the weight of the ruined vehicle directly on his shell.
He moved rapidly and stumbled at the last minute, landing on his knees right near the red-haired man in black. The man looked at him as if he didn’t know what was going on.
Quish’na looked at him for a moment. He appeared unharmed, so Quish’na turned his attention to the herd leader. He crawled next to him and leaned over him, looking for signs of life.
He gently touched his cheek and hoarsely said, “Herd Leader. Herd Leader!” He looked closely. Herd Leader Ki’Taran was breathing, but it was horrible and rattley. Quish’na looked down the herd leader’s body and saw that the weight of the carriage had cracked his shell, pushing the broken pieces into his chest. He felt tears beginning to well up in his eyes.
Quish’na suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up. The large man
in black was standing there. He motioned to the Ki’Taran. “Is he alive?”
Quish’na gently touched the herd leader’s face and replied simply, “Yes. But not for long. He needs help. His shell’s broken. Look.” He indicated the injury.
The man knelt down and looked into Ki’Taran’s face. He then said, as if to himself, “Hell of a welcome to the planet.” He leaned over to Ki’Taran’s face and murmured in his ear.
Quish’na was confused. “He can’t hear you. He’s …”
To his surprise, Ki’Taran’s lips moved. The priest leaned over him again, and then listened as Ki’Taran responded. He made a motion on Ki’Taran’s forehead, then over his own chest. He then folded his hands, closed his eyes, and bowed his head. Quish’na watched through his tears. The big man looked up after a moment and touched Ki’Taran’s cheek. “Rest easy, Herd Leader.”
Ki’Taran took one more deep breath, let it out, and died.
Quish’na felt despair welling up in him, and he took several rapid deep breaths. The priest moved to him and touched his shoulder again. “You knew him?”
Quish’na nodded, too overwhelmed to respond.
The priest looked at him intently for a moment, then said in a low, clear voice, “Are you hurt?”
Quish’na shook his head in the negative in the human style. He opened his mouth to speak, then he heard a series of pops. First one, then two, then many rapid pops. The huge priest hopped up nimbly, poked his head around the carriage cautiously, then pulled it back hastily and said to Quish’na, “We gotta go.”
Quish’na looked at the herd leader’s body. “But I can’t…”
The priest cut him off. “The police are shooting into the crowd, and they just shot one of the Imperial Guards. We need to get out of the street. We’ll come back for him.” He leaned close. “You have my word on that. Now, come on.”
The man lifted Quish’na up and draped his arm over his shoulders like he weighed nothing. Even as confused as he was, Quish’na marveled at the brute strength of this human, to move him so easily. The man moved them toward the edge of the carriage, heading away from the gunshots.
As they approached the far side, a figure materialized from the smoke and stood right in front of them, rifle at low ready. It was clad in soot-stained armor of the Provincial Police that had formerly been pristine white. It saw them at the same time they saw it, and it raised its rifle.
The policeman’s muffled voice shouted something incomprehensible at them, and the priest supporting Quish’na raised his free hand, palm forward in the human sign for surrender. He suddenly remembered the pistol and felt for it in his belly band. It wasn’t there; he’d apparently lost it in the blast. He could feel the burly priest begin to kneel as the white clad figure shouted at them. Quish’na could feel the arm supporting him disappear from behind him and he tumbled ungracefully onto his knees. He watched, stunned, as the priest moved like a snake, whirling, snatching a broken piece of the carriage, and slamming it with tremendous force into the armored figure where the neck met the shoulder. As the figure crumpled, the priest gave it a vicious kick to the stomach. The policeman hit the ground and didn’t move. The big man swept the rifle up, ejected the magazine, and rapidly field stripped it, throwing the pieces into different directions as he did so. This took place in a matter of seconds, and then he was scooping Quish’na up again and making for a nearby alleyway, as bullets sang through the air around them.
Thirty seconds later they were in the alley, taking refuge behind a dumpster. Quish’na collapsed against a wall, sliding down until he was sitting with his back to it, trying to catch his breath. After a few seconds, Quish’na asked, “Who are you?”
The man replied as he peered around the dumpster into the smoky street behind them, “Michael Collins. Earth.
“Quish’na. From here. How did you know how to fight like that? I thought you were a priest. Our reports say you don’t really fight anymore.”
The man grimaced. “Wasn’t always a priest. I was in the United Nations Marine Corps before I entered the priesthood, and I boxed a lot as a kid.” He stopped scanning the street and looked at Quish’na for a moment before continuing. “I think we’re ok for a minute, but we should probably get moving soon.”
He sat down next to Quish’na, then after a moment, he said, “What a day.” Quish’na couldn’t have agreed more.
TEN – COLLAPSE
“There are multiple dead and wounded. The police lieutenant on the scene reports sixteen dead, including the governor-general, Bishop Navarro, and Herd Leader Ki’Taran. There are reports of dozens more wounded. The hospital hasn’t gotten numbers to us yet.” The slender, dark-clad woman stood in front of the governor-general’s desk. Diego Castillo-Martin sat behind the massive desk, listening.
He nodded. “Thank you, Colonel Antigua. Keep us informed.” He then turned to a second person. “Captain Dahl, what of the reports of the police being attacked right after the blast?”
The short police captain nodded. “Yes, Governor. The Imperial Guards who survived the blast attacked the police escort immediately afterward. As they were dealing with them, the remaining police reported taking fire from the crowds, and returned fire. Since then, the violence has spread. In the past twelve hours, there have been multiple crowds of human and Karan rioters, attacking police stations and vehicles with improvised incendiary devices and those nasty spiked bats the Karan seem to prefer. We have several reports of patrols taking small arms fire, but that is unconfirmed as of yet. ” He paused and tapped his pad. A map popped up of the colony.
“They’re blocking roads here, here and here.” The map blinked in several places. “Our movement is severely curtailed between the elevator base station and the central police station, as we’ve had to choose between keeping them out of the science facilities or securing the routes. We’re holding the elevator base easily enough, but we can’t get to them.”
He paused. “My assessment is, if we can hold the main police station and the science facility, and use the last reinforcements on the elevator station to secure communication lines between the main police station and the space elevator…if we can hold those two, and they don’t come after the mansion, we should be able to ride this out with minimal loss of life.”
Diego considered this for a moment, then replied, “Very well. Bring down the last of the police. We’ll proceed with that plan. Police patrols may use whatever force they deem necessary to regain control of the city. We will not allow these malcontents to disrupt our city or the trade negotiations.”
He paused, then asked, “Who do we suspect committed this act?”
Colonel Antigua answered, “Human dissident groups angry at the UN. Karan nationalists who don’t want us here. The Karan Imperial Government itself. Who knows. All I can tell you is, we have a very tenuous situation here. The queen’s government is already demanding that we answer for the death of Herd Leader Ki’Taran, and all but accusing us of killing him ourselves.” She paused, then commented sardonically, “Her representatives have made it quite clear that if any more Karan lives are lost, she will hold the UN responsible.”
Diego considered this, and his face tightened. “So the queen thinks she can use this to her advantage, does she?” He drummed his fingers on the desk, then laid them flat and looked at Colonel Antigua. “Colonel, have your intelligence division find someone, anyone, to hold responsible. We need to be seen as rapidly putting this issue to rest.”
He turned to the police chief. “Captain Dhal, you will maintain order by whatever means necessary. I don’t care if you have to gun them down in the streets. This is a sovereign colony, per our treaty with the Karan Imperial Government, and they will not dictate how we handle internal security measures.”
Diego stopped again and resumed drumming his fingers on the desk for a moment, then said, “Our response to the Karan Government must be firm. I will draft it myself. This is a strict internal matter, and they need to be reminded of that.” Th
e two officers nodded.
Colonel Antigua indicated the space elevator. “We also control the high ground, as well as the system. If it gets too bad, we can access the station until we receive reinforcements from Earth.”
Diego nodded and turned to Captain Dahl. “Is the shuttle at the alternate lift site ready? I don’t think we’ll need it, but it’s always prudent to have a plan B.” The police captain nodded silently. Diego frowned, and then said, “Very good. You two have your orders. Let’s get this under control. I have a call to make.”
The two colonial officers stood and left the office unceremoniously. Diego tapped the com panel in his desk and waited while the connection was made. A young man’s face appeared on the screen. “Elevator Station Duty Officer Samuelson. How can I help you, Sir?”
“Doctor Grimar, please.”
“One moment, Sir.” The face disappeared, replaced by the symbol of the United Nations Scientific Mission Division. After a few seconds, the Norse scientist appeared.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Castillo?”
Diego smiled tightly. “Doctor Grimar. Please prepare the Dabat virus for deployment, but do not release it until I give the word.” The man’s face was stone solid, and he sat very still. Diego waited a moment and then spoke again, “Doctor Grimar, acknowledge your orders.”
The man slowly shook his head. “I can’t do that, Mr. Castillo. I will not be a part of unleashing that thing onto these people.”
“They aren’t people, Doctor. They’re aliens who have killed multiple United Nations citizens. Prepare the weapon.”
The man shook his head again. “I will not.”
Diego regarded him coldly. “Very well. If you won’t, your deputy surely will. He, I’m sure, remains loyal to the United Nations. If you continue to refuse, there will be harsh punishment.”
“I will not be party to xenocide.”
