“He is a Homelander patriot,” she flared. “He has learned to use taa so that it will not destroy him.”
She turned her back to me and sulkily sipped on her Coca Cola. The tip of her tail lashed reprovingly against the back of my head.
“He has dedicated tonight’s mission in my honor,” she added, intending to make me jealous. “He would be exclusive with me if I say yes.”
I snatched her tail away from my head and held it. “What mission are you talking about?”
“It is none of your affair, Kadar. You have turned your back on your people. When the dreadnought explodes at its docking …”
She caught herself, realizing in the middle of the sentence that she had said too much. Mina Lee was never the brightest coin in the fountain. The USS Admiral Tsutsumi had arrived earlier in the day. Although not yet official, it was assumed in SpecOps that it arrived in order to transport a DRT to a reconnaissance of a potential or actual Blob base site. DRT-213 was the next intended activation unit.
I looped Mina Li’s tail around in front of her and gave it a yank to spin her face to my face. I gripped her shoulders.
“Mina Li, you are going to tell me about this mission. Understand?”
C·H·A·P·T·E·R
FIVE
The Zentadon Homeland Movement enjoyed at least the passive support of many Zentadon both on our home planet of Ganesh, now garrisoned by the Humans instead of the Indowy who once occupied us, and here on Galaxia where we flourished as a considerable minority settlement. I thought of going to Commander Mott with the intelligence garnered from my would-be lover, for whom I had little special ardor — I simply found her unappealing as a mate, even a temporary one — but quickly dismissed that idea. Commander Mott would have no other recourse except to take action, which placed me in the unenviable, even dangerous, position of being fingered as an informant. If Mina Li couldn’t keep her mouth shut to me, what made me think she could keep it shut to others? As a half-breed, I was only nominally accepted by the Zentadon to begin with.
Besides, the Homelanders had no way of getting past security to sabotage the Tsutsumi. Unless …
I decided to have another cocktail. I liked “Happy Hour,” which is what the Humans called this time of day. While my drink was being mixed and presented to me by the smartass barkeep and his tail, another party of Kutaran joined the mating couple and a stag Ztura stuck his square yellow head inside while the rest of him remained outside on the end of a slender two-meter-long neck. The Market District of the Galaxia Capital, which was all the city was every called, was a port district where anything or anybody could show up and be accorded only a passing glance.
“Kadar, you will not tell Mishal I informed …”
“I will not if you will not. Now hush and let me think.”
I went back to unless. The Homelanders couldn’t get past security unless, and I had to consider this, unless the Homelanders had a plant, a contact, a sleeper inside military security to provide them with the codes to bypass the various electronic and robotic defenses that shielded the military space port.
I took a sip of my drink, then sat up straight as though jolted by the potency of the alcohol. My ears flicked.
Rumors about a Blob threat had circulated for so long that official statements were now often looked upon as so much government propaganda to keep the populace of restless Zentadon, and even more restless Human prolies pacified and controllable. Menace outside the gates and all that. Homelanders were not concerned with Blobs. Crazies like Mishal were so myopic, so intent on the one issue of Zentadon autonomy that they failed to see the Big Picture, as Human army officers were fond of saying. The Big Picture was, the Blobs would kick our Zentadon tail-dragging butts without the support of the Galaxia Republic military. If the Blobs made serious incursions into the Tau Ceti Cluster, Ganesh would be one of the first worlds to fall under the onslaught. Most Zentadon, like our former Indowy masters of today, were no longer warriors. Zentadon were incapable of killing other sentients without committing suicide in the process. You couldn’t fight a war if you died in the same numbers as your enemy — and there were far fewer of you to begin with.
But Zentadon could make war against objects. Blow up and destroy things. I had to assume, therefore, that Homelanders possessed the intel, the planning, and the contacts to blow up the targeted dreadnought. What disturbed me was the realization that if they sabotaged the Tsutsumi, higher-higher in the Galaxia military would suspect another Zentadon as the insider informant. Currently, I was the only Zentadon working on a pending mission, one that involved use of the Tsutsumi. Who could be a more likely suspect?
I had to put a stop to the action, tonight, and I couldn’t go to higher authority for help without presenting myself as a future Homelander target.
My ears were going involuntarily crazy. I was no hero. I was merely a Sen, and not an exceptionally good one at that. I looked at my fresh cocktail, then downed courage in a single gulp.
“Mina Li, go to my cubicle,” I ordered.
She brightened. “You want me to prepare it instead of my place for our future conjoining?”
“Mina Li, conjoin yourself. I want you to wait there until I tell you to leave. I will order my SecLocks to provide you entry. You should not be hanging around these old bars and taverns anyhow.”
“Oh, oh!” she swooned. “You wish to protect me!”
“Go!”
I saw her off in a hovercraft. I had no idea of how to stop Mishal and his saboteurs from carrying out their midnight mission, but I had about six hours to find them and make the attempt. Thanks to Mina Li, I knew the location of what they called their “safe house.” She thought that was where they intended assembling for the start of tonight’s deed. Mishal was a fool in confiding plans to a female like Mina Li in an attempt to impress her. Mina Li and Mishal probably deserved each other.
Zentadon in our natural state were heavy-grav plains walkers. I shed the phony tail and started walking rapidly toward the address, 76471 GPT, and very soon left the Market District to traverse the Human prolie slums in a shortcut to the Zentadon slums. I always found it disconcerting how peoples congregated into hives when they had plenty of otherwise open spaces to live in.
Galaxia was a small planet compared to the one the Humans called Earth; in barely a score or so of their generations, Humans had spread out over the entire dry crust of Galaxia and built their colonies like mold or lichen over the oceans of underground water that permitted animal husbandry and the growth of plant foods. What they created after the Great Revolution that freed them from Indowy subjugation, the way I understood it, were replicas of Earth’s social structures. They came among the stars with high ideals of building a New Society and a New Man; they couldn’t even build a New Dog, packs of which roamed the nighttime streets. The New Society, I assumed, was much like the old.
Socially, the Humans comprised three layers, four if you counted the military. On the top were the small groupings of professionals, the wealthy, the elites. Leaders, politicians, industrialists, traders, educators, planners. Movers and shakers. That was how the state-controlled media described them. Indeed, they moved things and shook things and got things done. They were in control.
If the uppers were the movers and shakers, the heads and brains, the middle layers might be called sweaters and toilers. They were the hands and muscles that kept the machinery organized, regimented, oiled and working.
At the bottom of the heap were the prolies. Assholes and mouths who mostly consumed and contributed little other than fodder for wars and menial labor to sweep streets and empty garbage, neither of which they did very well judging from the seedy and rundown appearance of much of the city. The media constantly agonized over the “poor among us, God assures they will always be among us,” and over the high crime rate. Being poor, slothful, dirty, and stealing from your neighbor apparently constituted “Human nature.”
I shuddered at the thought that I must be afflicted with
at least some Human nature.
I stopped at an automatic vendor and selected a sports cap two sizes too large and punched in ten credits for it. I pulled it down over my head to hide the golden glint of my hair and my pointed ears. Without a tail, in the dark, and out of uniform, I might hopefully pass for a Human prolie long enough to pass through the territory. I stayed out of the light and kept my head lowered. A gang of ratty-looking prolies strung out on artificial black market taa gave me the evil eye as I passed a sports stadium where muscle-enhanced prize fighters were holding an Ultimate Championship to their deaths. I looked small enough to be a mugging victim. Fortunately, about that time some Humans came out a side door carrying the body of a dead gladiator. That attracted the prolies’ attention away from me. A squadron of Security hovercraft with emergency lights blinking flew overhead on its way to a mini-riot or a mass murder.
Humans!
Zentadon had mostly been assimilated into the upper middle classes following our own liberation from the Indowy taa camps. We owed the Humans that. We were the sweaters and toilers, the administrators and supervisors in civilian life, the sergeants and NCOs in the military. Very few of us were commissioned officers. No movers and shakers, because the Humans didn’t trust us to move and shake. Most Zentadon were satisfied with that and had relocated in large migrations to the Human colonies to partake of the security offered by Galaxia armed forces. Increasing numbers, however, such as those in the Zentadon Homeland Movement, were not satisfied.
The Zentadon slums were much smaller in area and population, and somewhat better maintained, than the prolie Human districts. I soon came to 76471 GPT, an octagonal, windowless dwelling that peaked in typical Zentadon style into three floors, the uppermost of which consisted of a single small worship room. The house was made of plascrete. It needed virtually no maintenance and therefore remained like new for generations. Still unsure about how to terminate tonight’s mission, naïve as I was in such matters, I stood in the dark outside among the street-milling crowds and mind-probed the building.
It was occupied, I could tell that much. I felt a subdued excitement generated by the occupants, of the sort I associated with plotters and schemers. I drew in a deep breath and approached the two-way viewscreen at the door. I was an academic at the military Interstellar School; academics placed a great deal of faith in the capability of pure reason to resolve conflict.
I showed myself to the screen and introduced myself. Those inside chose to keep their side of the screen dark to me.
“Leave,” said a voice speaking Zentadon through the intercom. “This dwelling is not receiving.”
“I am Kadar San,” I repeated.
“I know you, Kadar San,” said the same voice. I now recognized it as belonging to Mishal. “This dwelling is especially not receiving you.”
“You must not sabotage the Tsutsumi,” I said, coming right out with the purpose of my visit.
The dwelling received me after all. The heavy door slid open and I was hustled inside by Mishal and two of his confederates. A third hunkered in a catatonic state in one corner of a room so dimly lighted that only conspiracies could be conducted inside its walls. This Zentadon had undoubtedly been experimenting with taa as a recreational drug and gone into a state of lintatai. He had no mind left of his own and would follow orders zombie-like until he eventually withered and died.
“Cauri Tan,” Mishal said, indicating the zombie. Mishal was a silver Zentadon with a magnificent full tail that stuck up straight behind his back at attention, reflecting the tension in the room. The other two were golds with green eyes.
One had a stub of a tail that looked like he had caught it in an automatic door and snapped half of it off. They stared at me in a way that made me acutely uncomfortable.
“You are a fool, Kadar San,” Mishal snapped, carefully regulating his taa output to keep it at a manageable level. “How did you find out?”
“I am a Sen,” I said, controlling my own taa level, and left it at that. Sens were held in awe among the general Zentadon populace. It was assumed that we could read all thought, whether it emanated from individuals or from collectives. Naturally, we who possessed the Talent played upon that general assumption. Mishal was none too bright. His thoughts reflected themselves in his facial expression so that even a limited Sen could read him to some large degree. I received the impression that his mind was darting about seeking someone to blame for the leak. It would never occur to him, self-centered that he was, to blame himself and his own loose lips.
“Your insider contact has been discovered,” I warned, playing upon his weaknesses. “You cannot hide anything from me, Mishal. All your thoughts are coming through like a VR.”
I detected a strong surge in him that centered on a female. I couldn’t read who the female was, but it was not Mina Li. Another female, a sleeper feeding out intelligence to the Homelanders? There were no Zentadon females in the Republic military. Zentadon females were not warriors. Did that mean a Human female contact sympathetic to the Homeland Movement?
“Do you wish to talk about her, Mishal?” I asked. “If I know, then the military must also know and have moved to intercept you.”
A cunning look came over his face. His purple eyes narrowed. I might have made a mistake.
“Never mind who she is,” he hissed, cat-like.
The contact was a Human female. I felt it.
“I will not think her name,” he said, “because, as you can read, I only know her as a code name. And she has no knowledge of the mission. So, if you know, it is only by reading minds of those inside this dwelling. You will not have the opportunity to pass it on. You must understand how much I dislike you, Kadar San.”
“I do, Mishal. You have no cause. I do not intend conjoining with Mina Li. She is all yours.”
“I am the better one, Kadar San. I am a full-blood and not a mongrel, such as yourself.”
“Yes, Mishal. You are a full-blood.”
The verbal duel was carried out in low-key, in a civil tone. Within Zentadon, especially the males, emotions must always be kept under control to prevent the generating of taa, the effects of which could be fatal under extreme circumstances.
“But even a full-blood with half-an-intelligence must see,” I continued, “that it is foolish to attack the military when it is the only thing standing between us and a Blob invasion.”
“Huh!” Mishal snorted. “There are no Blobs. It is an invention of the Humans to keep us subjugated. Kadar San, in spite of our differences, you could be an asset to the Homeland. Come over to us. You have valuable information about the Human military.”
“It is our military,” I countered. “You will understand the threat, Mishal, when Blobs put us once more, Zentadon and Human alike, into concentration camps as slave laborers.”
“My threat is the Humans,” Mishal insisted. “If you are not with us, Kadar San, you are against us. Mina Li will mourn your passing, but only for a brief time.”
“You cannot kill me, Mishal, without killing yourself.”
“Do not be too sure of that.”
“I will depart now,” I said, starting for the door.
“Cauri Tan!” Mishal barked. “Guard the door.”
The taa zombie obediently scrambled to his feet and blocked the doorway.
“He can kill you, Kadar San, for he is dead anyhow. He just does not know it yet.” Mishal laughed the sharp-toothed Zentadon laugh. He turned to Cauri Tan. “This half-breed is Kadar San. Kill him if he attempts to escape from this room.”
He laughed again. “He will destroy himself too from taa overburn,” he said, “but it makes no difference to him. One order cannot be countermanded by another, which you must know if you have ever seen lintatai. Few in this soft generation have seen it, of course. Make yourself comfortable, Kadar San. We will discuss more once we return from our successful mission.”
Mishal and the others loaded their waist packs with small, but extremely potent amounts of demolitions. The
y pulled on light tunics to hide their loads and started out the door. Last out, Mishal turned back and grinned. Cauri Tan stood next to the door, as motionless and emotionless as a statue.
C·H·A·P·T·E·R
SIX
DRT-213 had not yet received our mission briefing, but I assumed the operation was against the Blobs and vital to the survival of the Republic. Sabotaging the Tsutsumi would delay the mission for weeks, even months. I sat on cushions in a corner of the safe house room while Cauri Tan kept mindless guard over me at the door. I would have to use taa myself to even think of being a match for his taa-induced strength and powers. I had experimented with taa at times, as all young Zentadon did, and had even been frightened nearly senseless once or twice when intense feelings produced surges of it into my system. I little understood how to use it; the science of employing taa had been outlawed during the generations after the taa camps and the Great Revolution of the Humans. Zentadon were no longer predators and warriors. We were vegetarians.
Know what a vegetarian is? It’s a Zentadon word for an unsuccessful hunter.
But I was a Sen, wasn’t I? Didn’t that mean I had superior intellectual capability and senses more finely honed? Then why was I sitting here helplessly while fanatics went to blow up my ship and a near-vegetable kept me captive?
I probed the vegetable’s mind. Instead of the vacuum I expected, I encountered confusion and chaos. The poor fellow’s thought processes were so disorganized that the only thing he could understand was a clear and precise order. His mind would latch onto it like a drowning man seized a piece of flotsam and held on no matter what.
But what if I replaced the floating piece of driftwood?
I concentrated on the turbulence inside Cauri Tan’s head. In place of the order to guard me and kill me if necessary, I substituted commands for him to sit down and go to sleep. I implemented the command in hypnotic steps. You are tired, so weary that you cannot possible stand up. Sit. Sit. Sit.
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