The Quiet God (Earth Exiles Book 4)

by Mark Harritt

  So he had sharply curtailed many of his activities, and shifted many to Mara’a’s capable hands, since she was also a master in strategy and espionage. Jhani had been more of a problem with the assassins present. Jhani would have to prepare for the day that the Dostori Rev no longer had a need for his talents, or when she found out that he was actively opposing her. On that day the assassins would come for him. Jhani was prepping their escape plan and subsequent operations once that happened.

  So, he kept her away from the assassins. Plus, often, a professional can recognize others whose talents lay in the direction of his own line of work, and the assassins might recognize her capabilities. Her talents would be better utilized if they were revealed when needed, preferably with ambush or surprise. From a distance, she seemed like an air headed teenager, utilized simply for his pleasure. He wanted this cover to continue until her hidden talents were needed. She might be the slim edge that kept him alive, though he had his hidden strengths, strengths that might well surprise the assassins.

  The problem was, he had no intelligence about the capabilities of the Dinshani. Those who experienced their method of assassination never lived to pass on the information. In fact, Om Varee didn’t even know if the same four attended him at all times or if they switched out with others. The grey hued uniforms covered them from head to foot, wrapped tightly from knee to foot, and elbow to hands, but loose everywhere else. As assassins, it would be detrimental to their future employment if their features were revealed. So, not only did they have the hood of their uniform up, over their heads, but they wore masks as well. A gauzy face mask, suspended at the front of the hood, hid the features of the assassins. He couldn’t tell if they were male or female. If they had weapons, they were hidden in the folds of their clothing.

  So, he did the only thing that he could do, which was to ignore them.

  He moved through the halls to meet with the commander of the new mercenaries that Dostori Rev had hired, the Sh’raithe. The brigade had arrived a month earlier and began operations on the far continent, searching for the black soldiers. The Sh'rathe commander, Taectis, had been dismissive when he’d inquired as to whether or not he would need Om Varee’s situation report and intelligence. Now, he had been asked to, and was on his way to brief Taectis, which would mainly involve outlining the failures of the Turinzoni. Of course, some of those failures of the Turinzoni had been engineered by Om Varee, but that was a detail that didn’t need to be shared with the Sh’raithe commander.

  He approached the large, double doors that led to Taectis’ quarters. As Om Varee moved to the door, the lead assassin stepped to one side, covering the opening and the other three moved around to cover all approaches. Om Varee placed his hand on the electronic pad in the middle of the door, the sensor detecting, and announcing his presence to the inhabitants of the room.

  Minutes passed, and then the door opened. Incense curled out of the opening. The smell was cloying, sweet, florid. There was something else there, something that didn’t fit with the sweetness of the flowers, though. A hint of corruption and decay seemed to underline the florid stench. Om Varee could barely control the coughing fit he felt welling up. He bowed to the figure before him, spreading his hands as he did so, “Well met, gentle sapient.”

  Reading people was a talent that Om Varee had developed at a very young age. The man in the door was no servant. He could see that immediately from the body language of the man before him. There was no obsequiousness in the demeanor of the individual. He viewed Om Varee as an equal. There was no fear on his face as the presence of the Dinshani registered either, which meant he didn’t know what they were, or, if he did know, he didn’t care. This was a man used to meeting violence with violence, and was ready to do so at a moment’s notice. Om Varee’s eyes slipped to the belt the man was wearing, with a short, heavy curved dagger, almost a short sword, on one side, and a blunt, holstered pistol on the other. Om Varee thought that the man was probably one of the commander’s soldiers, more at home on the battlefield than he would ever be in this palace or any kind of social gathering. The man’s persona was more about brute force than social interaction.

  As hominids go, the man was different than most phenotypes that Om Varee was used to, with a beaked mouth, and green/brown skin. Om Varee was constantly amazed at the forms humans had metamorphosed into. The body was slim to the chest and shoulders, narrow legs and hips, then from the ribs his silhouette sloped into a v shape where it widened at the rib cage. He was dressed in a form fitting uniform, black, tight pants and calf high boots. There was no shirt, only a buttoned up coat that hung to mid-thigh, also black. The coat had a loose, low collar that fit around the neck completely. There were no medals or ranks of insignia on the coat that Om Varee could see. The man was about four inches taller than Om Varee.

  From what little Om Varee could see, the skin was thick hide, greenish brown in color. The head was bald, with a wreath of sparse hair that trailed in back from one ear to the other. A beak had evolved to replace the nose; two holes present on either side of the hard structure to breathe through. The beak had purplish, fleshy lips hidden behind it. The beak met with a hard layer of horned skin along the chin. As the sapient talked, the beak clicked against horn on the bottom jaw. Om Varee looked at the hands, which had thick pads across the knuckles, and thick, claw like nails on the fingers. He wondered what kind of environmental factors could have driven the evolution of this species. He wondered, it this was the male, what the female of the species looked like.

  Small, intense black eyes bored into Om Varee’s. Seconds passed and time seemed to drag as he looked Om Varee over. The absence of weapons was noted, and seemed to surprise him. This again reinforced Om Varee’s impression of the man’s vocation. Once he was done looking Om Varee over, he stepped back and the man tilted his head and motioned for Om Varee to come into the room, “Taectis awaits you.”

  The Dinshani closest to the room started to move forward, and the man tensed up, moving forward again to block the assassin, hands going to the hilt of the knife and the handle of the pistol. Om Varee forestalled the Dinshani, and possibly a violent altercation, by raising his hand, “Please, I think I’m safe enough as a guest of Taectis.”

  It was hard to ascertain the thoughts of the lead Dinshani, face and emotions concealed behind the veil. The man in the room had no fear, though, and stood ready for whatever decision the assassin might make. It was impossible to follow the gaze of the assassin, but Om Varee had no doubt that the assassin was studying the man intently. Finally, the assassin nodded his head, giving his consent.

  Om Varee inclined his head to the assassin, “Thank you. I’ll be out soon.”

  The assassin turned, placing his back to the wall. Another Dinshani moved to the other side of the door and did the same. Om Varee didn’t look back, but he knew that the other two assassins had moved to the far side of the corridor and mirrored the positions of these two.

  With the possibilities of the immediate future no longer in question, the man in the doorway stepped back, and Om Varee followed him in. As he approached the man, the smell of putrefaction increased, not by much, but enough for him to notice, even with the florid perfume in the air. Luggage, weapons, body armor, and trunks with unknown items were piled across the large room, evidence of their recent annexation. Om Varee followed the man through the great room into a smaller hall in the back. They came to a door, and the man knocked.

  “Enter.”

  The man opened the door and motioned for Om Varee to follow. Just to the inside the door, the man stepped to the side, and bowed toward the figure behind the desk, “Commander, I present Om Varee.”

  The heavy wooden desk was piled with curled rolls of electronic, transparent paper. There were data pads and electronic logs piled amongst the papers. There was a personal tablet setting to one side. All the detritus that seemed to follow commanders wherever they went had washed up on this desk. Om Varee had no doubt there were requisitions, fitness repor
ts, and supply inventories lying in that pile of electronic information.

  There was also a heavy pistol lying on the desk within easy reach of Taectis’ hand. The commander was cast in the image of the man that had answered the door, though Om Varee thought that the commander was older. Weathered lines crossed the face. The beak and dark green tint of the skin made it impossible to judge the commander’s age with any precision, though. The backs of the hands were heavily creased around the thick pads across the knuckles. Still, with this phenotype, that might not be an indication of age either.

  Taectis motioned to one of the chairs across the table, “Please, sit, Om Varee. Well met.”

  Om Varee inclined his head in acknowledgement of the offer, “Thank you, Taectis, I appreciate your consideration.”

  Taectis waved off Om Varee’s polite deference, “Om Varee, you will have to dispense with the polite civilities.” Taectis indicated the soldier that had brought Om Varee, and then himself, “You can relax. We are warriors here. We are less familiar with the niceties of civilized behavior.”

  Om Varee moved to the chair indicated, and sat down. As he moved between the man at the door and the commander, that undercurrent of decay that had plagued his sense of smell once again seemed to increase. It seemed that this species either didn’t bath often, or had a heady scent. Years filled with diplomatic intrigue and working as an intelligence agent had conditioned him well, though. He smiled, keeping his reactions in check, knowing that the commander would be testing him, looking for weakness, hoping to glean information from possible unguarded moments.

  He smiled as he sat down, “I wish my life could be as carefree. Unfortunately for me, I live in the palace, and such niceties are unfortunately ingrained in my subconscious.” Message delivered, “you will have to be subtler than that to get me to drop my guard.”

  Taectis motioned toward the man that had guided Om Varee through the suite of rooms, “You’ve met my seneschal, Fancheion, of course. He’s my aide-de-camp, as well as my bodyguard.”

  Behind Om Varee, Fancheion grunted, “Do you need anything commander?”

  Taectis turned to Om Varee, “Do you require refreshment?”

  Om Varee smiled, “Wine would be very much appreciated.”

  Taectis turned back to the seneschal, “Bring us a vintage from home, please.”

  Another grunt, and Om Varee heard footsteps as Fancheion walked away.

  “I hope you don’t mind a vintage from my home planet?” Taectis asked.

  This was going to be difficult. Om Varee could understand the overt body language, but the stiff facial features caused by the beak made it impossible to understand the subtlety of emotions that the commander might be displaying. Om Varee would have to be very careful in how he parsed his words. Om Varee shook his head, praying the wine didn’t taste like they smelled, “I look forward to tasting it.”

  Taectis motioned with an open hand toward Om Varee, “I think you will find it different than what you are used too. We like our wines earthier than you are probably used to. I have tasted wines from other planets, and a few from here as well. They seem to be much sweeter than the wines we produce on our world. Fruits are rare on our planet, so we ferment the sweet grasses that cover our continents to create our wines.”

  Om Varee smiled, hoping that Taectis could at least understand his facial expressions, spreading his hands as he spoke, “As it has been wherever humankind has settled, we find ways to cope. One man’s weed is another man’s lotus.”

  Taectis started drumming thick, talon like nails on the surface of the table, “It is as you say. If not for that one truth, the Dostori Rev would not be as wealthy as she is.”

  Om Varee nodded. Taectis had done homework before coming to this planet. The biologicals that Dostori Rev had discovered here had created an amazing revenue stream for her. It was amazing how many proteins found here could be used as narcotics for other hominid species around the galaxy. Due to the viability of the plants, the majority of the narcotics couldn’t be synthesized, and had to be grown locally. Either the plants didn’t do well in other habitats, or the plant wouldn’t properly synthesize the protein when transplanted. She had wandered into a natural monopoly when she retreated to this planet.

  Much to the detriment of the original hominids that were the indigenous inhabitants, though. When they had rejected her as their queen and goddess, they’d paid a heavy price as she continued to hunt and eradicate them. The reason she wanted them eradicated was twofold. Beside her wrath at being rejected, once the indigenous hominids were eradicated, no one could use them as an excuse to interfere with her operations.

  As the locals were reduced from being a threat, she removed everything they’d built, making huge factory farms on this continent to process the biologicals. Once the product had been moved out among the stars, she’d built up her operations as demand increased. Now, demand was beginning to outstrip supply, and it was tough for the huge farms to produce what was needed. That, of course, worked in her favor, driving up the price of the narcotics. With the steadily increasing income, she eyed opening up operations on the other continents.

  “Yes, the Dostori Rev is very capable when it comes to financing her projects.”

  Taectis continued to drum fingers on the table, “Such as my brigade.”

  Om Varee nodded, “Even so.”

  The Sh’raithe brigade wasn’t cheap to acquire. Three battalions of three hundred and sixty men. Each battalion had one company of heavy weapons. The brigade had three company size elements of Cree automatons as well. Unlike the Turinzoni soldiers, the Sh’raithe were known for competence, although they could be just as brutal as the Turinzoni if necessary. The difference between them and the Turinzoni was, while the Turinzoni preferred to murder, fight and brutalize, the Sh’raithe didn’t limit themselves to combat if other methods would give them victory in the contracted time frame.

  Fancheion returned with a bottle of Sh’raithe wine. Om Varee and Taectis made polite conversation as Fancheion finished pouring drinks. Fancheion left the bottle on the table so that they could pour more if necessary, and then he left the room.

  Om Varee picked up the cup, analyzing and admiring it. Due to the Sh’raithe beak, necessity had driven them to develop different styles of drinking glasses, with a spout to help facilitate drinking the wine. While he admired the glass, he used the spectrum analyzer in his ring to test the wine, ensuring that there were no poisons or toxins that would kill or incapacitate him. Not that he thought that Taectis would intentionally poison him, but food and drinks from unknown sources could have unknown effects on his biology. An allergic reaction could kill him just as dead as an intentional assassination attempt. Once he was satisfied that he wouldn’t die, Om Varee tipped the glass, and, using the spout, took a drink.

  Taectis waited until Om Varee finished, and tactfully ignoring the testing of the wine, asked, “And, what do you think?”

  Om Varee lowered his glass, and nodded his appreciation, “It’s much different than what I’m used to. We have fruited plants on my home world, and, even here there are many to make wine with. But I do like the taste. You’re right, though. It’s very earthy. Much stouter than our wines. I felt a burn in my throat as I drank.”

  Taectis mimicked Om Varee and used the spout to drink. Afterward, Taectis smacked purplish lips and the beak clacked in appreciation for the vintage, “You will find, Om Varee, that this particular drink is much healthier for you than the local wines. It is not just the alcohol content that causes the burn, though, but rather, some of the spices that we ferment in it.”

  Om Varee took another deep draught, to test the spice theory. He could feel the burn, but he thought there was indeed more to it than just the alcohol. He nodded as he spoke, “Ah, it seems you’re right. I taste the spices now. I couldn’t taste it at first, but I do now. It’s subtle, but there it is.”

  The sound of Taectis smacking lips together indicated that he’d taken another drink, “I
must commend you, Om Varee. Not many sapients are willing to try the food or beverages of other species. Even I, as well traveled as I am, have problems with the food of other species.”

  Om Varee shrugged, “It is due to my upbringing I guess. My master, Om Geral insured that I tried a wide and varied cuisine. He told me it was part of my training.”

  “Your master? Not your parents?” Taectis asked.

  Om Varee’s eyes glazed over as he thought about his parents, and then his face became hard as the memories of his past intruded on the present.

  Taectis noticed this change, “I’m sorry if I brought up something that bothered you.”

  Om Varee shook his head, more upset with himself because of his momentary loss of concentration than with the memories from his past, “Honestly, it’s nothing.” He smiled, and set his cup of wine to the side, “Perhaps we should discuss why I’m here.”

  Taectis nodded, setting cup to the side, beak tapping in agreement with Om Varee, “Yes, I think we should do exactly that. I don’t make money if I don’t understand the threat.”

  Om Varee nodded, “Just so.”

  Taectis settled back into the chair, “So, tell me how the Turinzoni lost so miserably to a group of soldiers who they didn’t even know existed?”

  Om Varee spread his hands apart as he settled back, “On this planet, it’s not expected to run into soldiers with advanced weapons or a good understanding of tactics and strategy. The only complexities the Turinzoni have run into is how to pay for food after they’ve spent their paycheck whoring, drinking and gambling. They were more likely to be injured by an inebriated tumble down the stairs than anything the indigenous people could fight them with.”