She made a sound that was very much like a Human sigh. “What a wonderful place this Union must be. It was the Union delegation’s visit a few years ago that opened my eyes, and I started to question our politics.”
She gestured toward an illuminated billboard with the picture of the Magistrate in his entire gray uniform splendor. “We all once were Dryak. We came from Third Planet in this system. At the height of our own civilization we established a colony right here on Itheamh and the colonists were called the Ithe. Then war broke out on Draake our home world and it was fought with terrible and dirty weapons, making our own world inhospitable. The Drak that survived fled to Itheamh. Itheamh barely survived without supplies and help from Draake even before the war and was virtually doomed as it could not provide survivable conditions to the now-increased population. We all learned in history classes that it was the benevolent Karthanians, our big friends who then came to help us with food, technology and support. All they wanted in return was to use our world as an outlet for their wares and take our criminals in return as workers. I believed all this for a long time. The truth was that the Karthanians instigated the war on Draake and gave the fighting sites the weapons that turned our home world to toxic wasteland. The Karthanian were not satisfied with a few criminals but had need for many slaves. The truth is that all Itheamh business is really in Karthanian hands and that we are nothing more than a scrapyard and service station for broken spaceships from other species and civilizations.”
Nefkin the Karthanian had listened to our conversation and he said, “We haven’t always been this way. It was the greed of the Guild Masters. They realized that there is a galaxy full of potential customers for our technology and ships, but how to tap that market? We have been very xenophobic ever since the First Engineer predicted our doom from the hands of a soft-shell alien. The Guild Masters took charge ever since the First Engineer fell asleep and use planets like Itheamh for their shady business.”
We had walked a good distance now and the industrial area gave way to a depressing housing district, with dark gray concrete boxes, many stories high, dotted with small rectangular windows.
The disguised Togar stopped his conversation with Har-Hi and pointed at a simple, one-story building with a few large windows and a cheaply made sign, reading Scraper Gear.
He said, “There we will buy worker’s coveralls; the underground trains are filled with thousands of beings in coveralls working on one of the many scrapyards and dismantling companies. As soon as we all wear blue coveralls and work boots, we simply disappear and become as good as invisible.”
The store smelled of grease, dust, and wet clothing. A smell I had not detected since I had left Nilfeheim.
We purchased simple one-piece boiler suits of a dark blue, somewhat stiff fabric. The Karthanian handed us thick hoods of tan leather. “These are Torcher hoods; many wear them when they use torches to cut the scrap, and it will obscure our identities even further.”
The hoods left the faces open and to complete our look we bought torcher goggles, gloves, and a large toolbag for Har-Hi’s swords and weapons. The shop owner accepted a Union credits strip without hesitation or even looking up. Outside, in a dark alley, we put the suits on. The Karthanian tossed dust and dirt all over us and splashed the contents of a bottle over Har-Hi and Ninety and himself. It reeked of something organic and not very pleasant.
Har-Hi and the Togar had even more sensitive noses than I and it was Ninety who complained, “What in the spirit’s name are you putting on us?”
His Karthanian friend said, “It’s a liquid so the dirt and dust sticks better to the new suits. We don’t want to look fresh and clean.”
Har-Hi nodded. “Yes, yes, I understand that but I haven’t seen you buy any bottles. It sure does not smell like water.”
The Karthanian spread his arms. “I have no nose, sorry, I don’t smell anything. I found a that bottle sitting over there behind that trash barrel.”
I gagged and said to Har-Hi, “Well, the bright side is that anyone with a nose will think we are sewage workers and make a big circle around us.”
Ninety clenched his fists and said to his friend, “Nefkin, I know it was with good intention, but never, ever pick up any open bottles near trash barrels and give me a shower with it.”
Jutika adjusted her torcher’s hood and said, “It smells just like Oghar—”
I stopped her. “Just pretend you don’t know what it is and don’t tell us.”
We left the alley and followed the street to an intersection. From there, we didn’t have to go far and followed our guides and dozens of other beings all dressed in dark-blue boiler suits, some with torcher’s hoods, some with jackets and helmets, down a flight of stairs.
The stairs led into an underground tunnel that was dimly lit by a few light elements. The grimy walls were decorated with posters and slogans of the Magistrate. The slogans told people to work as hard as they could for the common benefit of all.
Here in this tunnel, hundreds of beings stood in long rows waiting for something. There was a ledge that divided the tunnel: the other side was recessed and deeper.
Everyone was dressed like us. Many carried tool or lunch boxes. There hung an invisible cloud of sweat, oil, and rusty metal smell over it all. It was also quiet, not many talked and those who did kept their voices down.
Someone did complain about Har-Hi’s smell and moved away.
Ninety said with a subdued voice, “Most of them are very tired from a long day of physical labor. They are not slaves and get paid, but very little.”
Har-Hi said, “I don’t understand all this need for slaves and laborers. Could not that scrap be processed by robots and nanite factories? I’ll wager a gang of S-55s and a few nanite disassemblers could do the same or more than all the beings here, and they’d do it around the clock, too.”
Nefkin made a nodding motion. “It is the same question almost every Union slave I ever met asked the first time they arrive at the smelters. There are not many robots on this world and very few are even used by my people building spaceships. No one could ever really explain to me what a nanite factory is, but from what I understand, what they do it is far beyond Karthanian capabilities and sounds almost like magic to me.”
Ninety said, “I once had a Human prisoner while I was still a Togar commander. He told me that the Union uses tiny little robots, so small they can manipulate matter on a molecular level, and they use billions of them to break something down into its raw materials. I did not believe him back then.”
I could not help myself. “You didn’t believe him, so you ate him. Right?”
He lowered his head. “Yes, I did. It appears you know about this condemnable practice of the Togar.”
I could not keep the steely edge out of my voice. “I intercepted a transport ship with thousands of slaves and with Human body parts butchered and ready for the Togar meat markets.”
He said, “Captain, forgive me. Back then, I was a different being, I have changed a lot since then and I know there are voices among my species who want all Togar to stop eating sentient beings. As a former commander of Togar spaceships. I know how incredibly powerful the Union Fleet is and I know they will one day make us pay for every life we took of theirs. Maybe my eternal exile and slavery is fate’s way to make me pay for that.”
Har-Hi put his hand on my shoulder. “Captain, I am sure he has not eaten a Human since.”
A long-segmented vehicle squealed with shrill metallic sounds over a set of metal strips and came to a stop. Sliding doors opened all along its side. Everyone pushed inside and so did our guides. We had little choice as we were basically pushed inside as well.
We found a place to sit, on rusty rigid benches bolted in rows to the floor.
The train passed into a dark long tunnel and made lots of noise while doing it. It was somewhat akin to a trans-planet mover, but it was neither very fast nor very smooth.
***
We had traveled a good hour
on that train. The local transport thing stopped frequently and the train cars emptied a few beings at the time.
How the Karthanian knew where we were was a mystery to me. Perhaps he had counted the stops or had some other indicator. He said, “We better get up; the next stop is ours.”
We resurfaced a few minutes later.
It was what the Karthanian called the Pulse District, a workers’ amusement section of the city. Jutika told us that this was for Ithe, and Drak would hardly ever find their way into this section of town. There was heavy police presence at every corner.
Our plan was to go to a local bar at an address Cherubim had transmitted. There we would be contacted by someone who would guide us to the actual NAVINT intelligence contact. Of course, I had not told Ninety or the others of that part. I could not trust our allies that much and expose a NAVINT agent. Whoever it was might even continue to be an intelligence contact if Itheamh changed governments.
Officially, I wanted to do some general intelligence and check out the spaceport. At least that part was true as it was an integral part of my plan.
Ninety had come along to secretly meet with an underground cell. He said to me as we stood at the top of the escalator stairs, “Well, this is the Pulse District. Seven blocks from here begins the Spaceport District, and there you find the offices of several Union-based shipping companies.”
They turned to go back down as their destination was in another part of town. “I know you are very formidable and capable individuals, but the Central City Drak soldiers are elite and very brutal in their methods, so be careful.”
I said to them, “You be careful, too. You do know how to activate the implant if you run into trouble, right?”
They nodded and, moments later, Har-Hi and I were alone, standing next to a concrete city center park with statues of previous magistrates and Drak heroes immortalized in bombastic statues made of even more concrete.
Har-Hi looked up at one particularly big statue. “They sure like concrete around here. They use it everywhere!”
I also looked up. “I guess it is a cheap building material. Don’t tell Jutika but I personally find the Ithe look quite comical and to see them blown up to such size in something that is supposed to be a heroic pose makes them even funnier-looking.”
A steely voice accompanied by the clicking heels of boots interrupted us. “Magnificent, is he not? Magistrate Rotraga.”
I turned and two Drak officers in dark gray coats walked up to us.
For the duration of maybe a heartbeat or two, I forgot how to articulate and steer the stilt eyes of my mask, but then I managed to activate the correct logarithm with a blink of my real eyes. To a Human mind, it was very confusing to have two independent moveable eyes that sat at the same spot where a Human had ears, so we decided during our mask-making session with Shea and Cateria to make the stalk eyes mock eyes only and have our real eyes behind a patch of one-way transparent bio-skin. The stalk eyes moved more or less on a random move program until we needed to interact with other Ithe and we switched the eyes to interaction mode. This was the best Shea and SHIP could come up with in such a short notice and it was as convincing and awesome as everything they made, but we had to switch manually between programs.
I answered, “Oh, yes, this magistrate was always my favorite hero, too, especially how he holds that saber.”
One of the officers came closer. “Is there something wrong with your eyes, Ithe cretin?”
The other said, “You both are very tall; you are not trying to sneak into the Inner District posing as Drak, right?”
Har-Hi said, “Of course not, officer.”
The one talking to me said, “What do you think was Rotraga’s greatest achievement?”
I asked, “Can two citizens not take an evening stroll and admire the statues of our heroes without being questioned about the deeds of Magistrate Rotraga, who was among the greatest? He made sure there is law and order and we workers have work.”
The officer who had talked to Har-Hi said, “Your ID cards!”
The other snickered. “Pray that we find nothing wrong with your ID cards; there are still seats available on the next flights to the Smelter Moons.”
Shea had hacked into the local computer system and our nanite factory aboard the Tigershark had no problem to copy the old ID card of Commander Jutika and manufacture new ones that would match the data Shea had fed into the local security data net. So, we handed them our ID cards. One of them pulled a blocky device from a belt holder and scanned them.
They both saluted and handed the cards back. “Sorry, we didn’t know you were of the secret police.”
I barked at them, “What good would it be to have a secret police if everyone knew who’s in it?”
We simply turned and left them where they were.
Har-Hi said to me as we passed under the legs of a statue, “I wish we could stick those two jack-boots on one of those flights.”
“We are planning to free the slaves, not add more.”
He grunted something I didn’t understand, but I was sure it was a colorful insult directed at the two Drak officers, and then he looked up and down the street. “Now where is this bar we are supposed to go to? I see dozens of bars and they all look equally uninviting to me.”
I glanced at my PDD by pushing the sleeve of my boiler suit back. “Do you see a Thirsty Torch? If our map data is correct, we should be about 20 meters from it.”
Finally, we noticed a busted light sign where only the letters ‘Thi’ and ‘rch’ still worked.
We went in. The bar was packed but we managed to find a table. Har-Hi and I ordered something that looked like beer and when the unsavory-looking waiter left, Har-Hi leaned forward. “Now what? How are we supposed to make contact and how would they know who we are?”
“Patience, my friend, patience is an important trait in this clandestine spy business. Besides, we have already been contacted.”
He hissed, “It was you who ran around doing all these spy things while we thought you got killed or worse. I am just a simple Dai pirate who happens to be a Union officer.”
“Nobody asked me if I even wanted to be abducted and run around and learn the spy business.”
He pretended to sip at the beer. “I didn’t mean it that way and you know it. It is this place that gives me the creeps. So how did we get contacted? I saw nothing.”
“Look at your beer coaster.”
He looked at the glass. “I still see nothing, just some doodles and beer brand advertisement.”
“You don’t think that doodle there looks very much like a Union Fleet chevron?”
“Yes, now that you mention it, but it seems to be on every beer coaster, I think it is just a doodle and not a very good one. Besides, how would the contact know we are the ones? We look like everyone else here.”
“He is giving out the coasters to everyone, but only a Union contact would know that this is an unfinished Union chevron doodle. I just completed it, dumped my drink under the table and ordered another beer.”
The waiter, a smudgy-looking Ithe placed a new beer before me and took the glass along with the coaster.
He came back a few moments later and put a smaller glass with a clear liquid that smelled real strong before me. “Sorry for spilling your beer, here is a Rothir throat burner on the house.”
I said, “You better get me another Rothir throat burner; you know how ugly my domestic home partner is.”
He said, “Is she as ugly as her sister Tenea?”
“No, Tenea looks like a Visualizer star compared to her.”
“Meet me in 20 minutes outside and keep a low profile.”
He left.
Har-Hi said, “You do have a knack for this. I read the same instructions Cherubim sent to us and there was no mention of a Rothir throat burner or a sister Tenea, or was there?”
“It was a variation of contact scenario 17. The booze name changes according to local conditions and the sister’s name is
changed daily with the day code transmission, but the rest is a predetermined NAVINT contact procedure.”
He sniffed at the throat burner. “As I said, you received specialized intel training we did not.”
He was right, of course. While the others enjoyed their first break, I was conditioned at Pauli Station and received Blue-Blue-Red clearance before my second year really started, not to mention my time with Mother Superior. Just then, a fight started at a neighboring table. An Oghar and a very strong-looking Ithe male started exchanging blows and kicks. The situation escalated to other tables fast.
It was all fine for us until an Oghar insulted Har-Hi and sloshed the content of a beer mug all over my friend’s face, calling him a coward and other names.
My friend tried to stay calm and out of the brawl, but after he had to block a fist aimed at his temple, he got up. Of course, I had to get up as well to keep his back.
About five or 10 minutes later, Har-Hi held the dazed Oghar by the throat and forced him to his knees and poured a glass of beer slowly over the greenish skull of his opponent.
I looked around but no one was left standing. Except for the painful groaning of an Ithe worker who hung over a support beam above the tables, it was very quiet.
The frightened barkeeper slowly appeared behind the bar counter and made big eyes. Har-Hi pushed the Oghar away, who instantly crawled under the last standing table for cover and buried his brutish face between his knees as Har-Hi turned once more to look at him.
I approached the shaking barkeeper. He had somewhat Humanoid features, and I wondered if he was an Oghar-Human hybrid of sorts as he had features of both species. He was at least two heads taller than me and yet he was clearly frightened. “Sorry about the damage. I think this got a little out of hand. How much would I owe you for the cleanup?”
He blinked with his reddish eyes and then said in a meek voice that didn’t really fit the tall muscular body. “You didn’t start the fight, I saw it. I don’t want to—”
Eric Olafson Series Boxed Set: Books 1 - 7 Page 144
