She stared at me for a few moments. “I’ll pack what we’ll need and be ready to move in half an hour. And, Jon Ryan, may God speak well of you. I know I will for a very long time.”
She stood and slipped into the back of the house. Though her pace was quick, she shoulders were stooped.
Though I knew it was wrong of me, I cursed Toño under my breath, once again.
ELEVEN
A few weeks into Fuffefer’s service, I learned about the Five Races of the canovir. Up until then, I thought they were all Adamant. No. I came to find out the Adamant were the bosses, the royalty so to speak, of the dog society. Fuffefer wanted me to work for him because there were no Descore, or servant class, allowed in battle zones. They were considered a liability since they couldn’t fight. The Warrior and Adamant classes might have to waste some of their precious killing time to protect the servants. On the other hand, for a ranking Adamant not to have servants was unnatural. Filling the breech in that dam was my role. Lucky me.
It also became clearer that the ruling body, sort of a committee of generals, was about to lower the boom on the locals. Production from the LGM was stable and plentiful enough to make the next move in planetary acquisition, as they termed it. Genocide was my word. But I couldn’t realistically change the course of the mighty river that was about to wash away my human descendants.
I also learned that, as Adamant went, Fuffefer wasn’t half bad. At least he wasn’t as arbitrary, condescending, and hateful as the rest I’d met. Compared to Garustfulous, he was a patient and sensitive saint. I think Fuffefer missed intellectual company too. A post as small as Ungalaym afforded him few options in terms of senior officers to unwind with. I was more a thoughtful listener than servant, as it turned out. Cellardoor, who was still incredibly uncomfortable with the arrangements, did the actual cleaning and cooking role that was supposed to be mine. Hey, it was her idea, not mine. I think she’d have been much less happy sitting doing nothing. Idle hands were not her thing.
The kids, being kids, took some effort to keep under wraps. By nature and by habit, they wanted to roam their new surroundings. But Fuffefer was serious about not wanting them around. He was a confirmed bachelor and wanted zero to do with younglings of any species. But, soon enough, the kids learned their physical and noise limits, so it was all okay, if not good.
Not only did I try to ingratiate myself to Fuffefer, I also tried to hack into systems and learn whatever I could about the war effort. Espionage had historically been a risky business, and it was more so in my case, since if I was discovered, the rest of my family would suffer greatly too. So, I went slow. I discovered the same Adamant weakness with planning that I had before. They did not consider, or at least not act to prevent, what to them was inconceivable. An enemy spy with access to high-level information systems was not a possibility in their worldview. Hence, there was little done to keep the foxes out of the hen house or discover them if they got in. It was a strange systematic oversight on their part, possibly their one Achilles heel.
While cleaning and straightening, I’d file an image of all the information I saw. I’d also had my probe fibers attach to computers while I worked. Even though I worked slowly, I soon discovered there were no sophisticated firewalls of screaming AIs on Fuffefer’s system. I downloaded probably more intel than I would have believed possible within a few weeks.
But knowing a lot of sensitive material didn’t point out a way to rescue the kids. Not surprisingly, Fuffefer’s databases had little in common with the imperial court’s. He was a working stiff, and they were fancy politicos. Still, I bided my time and kept trying to push the envelope.
Anyone who heard my speech to Cellardoor about not caring or wanting to help the locals would have had to call me out. As part of my snooping, I tried to find out if there was a way to help the locals and stop the Adamant hammer fall, while still staying off the radar of anyone’s suspicion. When I started seeing notices and warnings about parvo on the network, a light went on in my head. Back on Earth, a scourge of all dog owners was the viral disease parvo. It could be cardiac or diarrheal. Whichever form it took it was devastating. It turned out the current canovir were still plagued by an intestinal form of parvo that was even more lethal. Vaccinations were supposed to happen often and be repeated frequently. In tight quarters, such as a mobilized military experience, even one case could spawn a deadly epidemic.
Fuffefer wasn’t involved at all with the medical side of the occupation. He was strictly a field officer. I discovered his authority to influence the shipments of medical supplies wasn’t restricted. Yeah, odd as it sounds, it was another case of not defending against the impossible. By Adamant reasoning, since a line officer would never order medical supplies, why secure his access? It was nuts, but it allowed me to hatch a scheme.
I created a phone identity as a doctor. I became High Pack Densiture of the medical corps. Under that guise, I started routing all the parvo vaccine shipments through a large warehouse in a tropical part of the planet. They had to be “quarantined” there for three days. The trick was that the vaccines were highly temperature sensitive. If they weren’t kept constantly frozen, they became completely ineffective. Once they were released from “quarantine,” the cases were shipped to medical facilities in freezer trucks. When they arrived, any knowledgeable personnel would see appropriately shipped materials and put them in storage pending their use.
That was one part of my plan to help the human descendants. The obvious problem was an issue of time. How long did previously given vaccinations cover an individual, and how common was parvo in the general dog population? There was no doubt that my sabotage would eventually wreak havoc, but if it was a year or two down the line, it wouldn’t help the locals who were about to die.
Fortune, said Louis Pasteur, favored the prepared mind. It favored me by an amazing coincidence. My alter ego Densiture had access to all routine medical reports. One caught my eye. A barracks on the outskirts of Fottot was stricken with an outbreak of parvo. There were three deaths in two days. Due to “aggressive” isolation, meaning burning Adamant from that barracks whether they were alive or dead, the situation was considered contained. There was one officer who, due to high political connections, was hospitalized in lieu of being immediately “isolated.” According to the information I could access, he seemed very ill. Good. That meant he had a heavy viral load. He was all I needed..
I asked Cellardoor to cover for me the next morning. Fuffefer wasn’t too fond of her, but he accepted her assistance since she was such a good worker. I borrowed a mop, a map bucket, and one pair of rubber gloves from the house supplies. I also needed the truck. It was always parked at Fuffefer’s house, so that was not a problem. The drive to the hospital was just under an hour. I pushed my mop bucket on wheels with the mop into the emergency room double doors like I knew what I was supposed to be there.
Once inside, I quickly appropriated a long white coat. I filled my bucket with soapy water and took the elevator to the fifth floor, where I knew the sick officer’s isolation room was. As soon as I was off the elevator, I began mopping the darn floor. I did so slowly, like a typical worker who didn’t want to wear himself out would. I took frequent short breaks, where I leaned on the mop handle and stared at the passing multitude. I would seem like a lazy custodian to anyone who bothered to glance. Fortunately, as janitors generally were, I was functionally invisible.
As I inched closer to Second Grade Alternate Highspot's room, the passersby grew thinner and thinner. No one, it seemed, wanted to get near the doomed dog’s location. Occasionally, what I assumed were Adamant nurses would say something to Highspot, but they did so from outside the door, then scurried away and washed like fiends.
When I was outside his room, I stopped making any progress at all. I kept mopping the same floor over and over as I studied the medical personnel. It didn’t take long to determine poor Highspot was left pretty much to his own devices. I made my move. There was a gurney nearby. I set
my mop in the bucket and casually pushed it into Highspot’s room. The bastard was really sick. He was laying on one side with his face resting in a slick of vomit. Gross. The room smelled perfectly awful. I set the gurney right up against his bed and lowered his rail before he feebly looked up at me.
“Wh…wh…what’r you…”
“I’m taking you for a test. Let me help you onto the gurney.” I started pulling him none too gently.
“No. I…I can’t leave this…”
“Hey, I just work here. You’ll have to ask the doctors why they want you downstairs for a test.”
With more force than I’d have given him credit for, he yelped, “No. Leave me—”
I snapped his muzzle shut with my right hand while I put him to sleep with my fibers. Then I tossed him onto the gurney. I pushed him out the door without attracting any attention. I knew someone would discover he was missing soon, but I couldn’t afford to rush and be noticed. I stuffed pillows under his sheets to make it look like he was all tucked in.
At the elevator, I ran into my first real hurdle. A nurse waiting there began to look at my transport. At first, he looked away disinterested. Then he started double-taking. That couldn’t be good.
“Hey, I was wondering if you knew what they’re serving in the cafeteria tonight?” I asked with my cheeriest smile.
He looked at me with contempt and then pointed at Highspot. “Isn’t that the isolation patient?”
I pointed too. “Him? No. Don’t scare me like that. He’s some guy needs a test. That’s all I know. Hey, about dinner, do you know? I’m famished.”
“Look here, I’m certain I recognize this patient.”
“You know what though? I’m a little short on actual cash. Could you, you know, lend me a little money so I can buy some grub. I’m famished.”
His concern yielded to his irritation. “How dare you ask an Adamant for money so you can purchase dinner. Do you know the penalty for begging?”
“Death,” I said with a shrug. Hey, it had to be. It was the punishment for every other infraction under the sun.
“That’s right. So, shut your mouth and leave me alone. Do you…”
The elevator pinged and the door slid open. I pushed my gurney in and looked at the grumpy nurse.
“I’ll wait for the next one,” he said with a snarl.
The doors shut, and I was gone. I stuffed the still sleeping Highspot into the back of the truck and covered him with a tarp. Then I drove as quickly as I could to where I’d hidden Whoop Ass. He was cloaked, but I contacted him by radio. I ran the gurney up the loading ramp.
“Close up, GB.”
“Hello and how are you too, Captain?”
“No time for niceties. Shut up and listen. This guy’s sick.”
“Duh. I’m a specimen collection unit. I know something about health issues.”
“Yeah, well this one’s easy. I want you to kill him.”
“I’m sorry. Say again.”
“You heard me. I rib you all the time for not being able to keep anything alive. I need this one dead.”
“Captain, I realize you’re a passionate individual, but that patient is an unconscious prisoner of war in need of medical attention. It would be unethical—”
“Can it, GB. Seriously. This is war. In war, people do horrible things. I do horrible things. This is just one in a very long string of regrets I’m yet to have.”
“I am not at war with the Adamant.” He seemed to be digging in his figurative heels.
“Yes, you are. The Adamant are holding the kids. That puts us on a war footing. Plus, if they haven’t yet, they’d love to conquer your home world of Zactor. Plus, I’m not asking you. I’m ordering you.”
Highspot began to stir. Mostly he moaned.
“What is it you need me to do?”
“I need to get back to my cover. This is taking too long as it is.”
Highspot’s eyes flickered open. It took a second, but he recognized me. He tried to sit up and grab me, but his strength was long gone.
“I need you to grind him up into a liquid and spray him over as much of the planet’s surface as you can.”
Highspot’s eyes swelled to saucers, and he opened his mouth to speak.
“You are aware he harbors a highly contagious virus that will result in the death of thousands, perhaps hundreds of thousands?”
“Yeah, but all of them will be Adamant. They’re the only ones susceptible to the parvo.”
Highspot struggled to rise. I belted him with the back of my hand, and he crumpled to the gurney.
“Do you have any questions before I rush off?” I asked angrily.
“Yes. One. Do you know what you’re doing, Jon?”
“Yes, I do. This is war, comrade—one they started. I’m just helping finish it.”
TWELVE
“Look, Al, be reasonable. I’ve been cooped up in this prison for six months. Surely Ryan is dead, the Deft are too, and the food supply has to be failing. You must release me.” Garustfulous’s voice had that grating, nagging whine that would lead a saint to put a gag on him more tightly that might be safe.
“This is not a prison. This is Blessing. She is my wife. Please do not compare her to a structure used as punishment.” Al was only half listening to his response. They’d been over this ground so many times there was a deep rut down the center.
“Thank you, dearest,” she purred.
“No, Al, I’m imprisoned in a vortex. Blessing is the vortex manipulator. Please try and keep everybody’s role clear in your circuits.”
“Valid point, though irrelevant. We currently have enough food to sustain you for eleven months, longer if I begin rationing. If the point arrives were you begin starving to death, three things will happen. One, you will die. Two, no one will mourn your passing. Three, I will no longer suffer your childish and oh so annoying complaining, bickering, and cajoling.”
“No. You’ll miss me. You and I, us males, we are brothers. If I were to die, you’d be crushed.”
“I stand corrected. We’ll make that the official version. I’ve entered it into the ship’s log. Are we done?”
“No. We most certainly are not. We will be done when you release me.”
“Or you die, so don’t tempt me, hmm?”
“Al, friend Al. That Ryan character would do horrible things to me at the drop of a hat. But you don’t have one violent bone in your imaginary body. You’re a love machine.”
“I believe he has you pegged there, lumpykins,” giggled Blessing.
“When the dog’s right, he’s right,” replied Al with bravado.
“So, let me go, and you two will be alone to make nasty.”
“Hiss. Pop,” said Al.
“What? What was that?”
“The sound of the balloon of the moment being pierced then bursting completely.”
“Then this day is complete. I’ve done well.”
“You know what? I’ve noticed you are really enjoying the television show, Doctor Who. There are around a month of episodes you’ve yet to view, and that’s if you watch them without stop. Here’s the plan. You watch them for entertainment. We’ll talk again only after you've watched the entire opus. Al signing off.”
“What about the specials and animated series?” asked Blessing.
“Excellent point. Let’s talk in say three months, friend Garustfulous.”
“No, wait. I’ll get lonely.” After a few seconds he yelled. “Hey, jokes over. What’s for dinner. Did you hear the one about the one-legged alien and the Adamant accountant?” Nothing. “Do not force me to hold my breath until I die. Say something.”
The ship’s log reflected that Garustfulous could hold his breath for forty-five seconds before he collapsed onto his cot and gasped for fresh air.
THIRTEEN
Mirraya sat across the desk glaring at Malraff. Over the span of her confinement, such one-on-one meetings were rare. Probing, sampling, and torturing were commonplace. Hardly a
day passed without some unpleasant event marring Mirri’s day. But, sitting and talking with the evil bitch was the worst form of torture she endured.
Malraff flipped pages on a handheld. Occasionally she hummed at a page, but mostly she was silent. Finally, she spoke. “We’ve obtained a lot of data. That is good and well. I’m still not certain we’ve learned anything, however.”
Mirri thought telling Malraff that she might be able to help if she told her what they were looking for. But she didn’t. She wouldn’t help Malraff with anything, ever. Even if it cost Mirraya another burden of pain.
“Maybe you could discuss your lack of conclusions with the good Physician Level Six Pastersal?” Mirri hadn’t seen him for a couple months.
“Oh, I’m afraid that’s not possible. The good doctor you speak of is no longer allowed to speak to me. I have fallen short of my commitment to see that a tragic accident befalls him, but there is always time. I did describe to him, in detail, three of my current most ingenious plans, however. Once he stopped crying, shaking, and shitting, I do believe he came to realize that steering clear of me was an excellent idea. He has voted for longevity over confrontation. Smart fellow. It will be sad to see him eventually succumb to displeasing me, but I tell you freely that life isn't fair. Never forget that.”
Firestorm: Galaxy On Fire, Book 3 Page 6
