by Jaleta Clegg
"Come with us," he repeated.
I nodded. It didn't matter if I lingered here or ran. I was going to die either way. Fast or slow, it didn't matter to me.
Chapter 11
"Citizen Kioren, report." Potokos' voice was crisp, authoritative, as befitted the ruler of Tivor. Potokos represented the voice of the people of Tivor. In an ideal world he would be, but Tivor was far from ideal. Potokos was the ruler, despot, tyrant, whatever terminology used it was the same. Potokos held the power.
Kioren was short and wide. On a planet with constant food shortages, he still managed to be fat. He stood and puffed himself up importantly. "Food production on the farms is up thirty seven percent from last winter."
"Not difficult, since food production is near zero during the winter," Shaydoc, another one of the Inner Congress, put in.
"We have farms in the neotropical regions of the continent," Kioren said. "Where do you think the fruit you enjoyed this morning was grown? The farms are producing at capacity."
"Then you need to increase capacity," Shaydoc said. "Winter is barely begun and already the food requisitions for the military are being denied."
"The farms are near capacity for workers," Kioren said. "Thanks mostly to the new law enforcement policies." He nodded at Kuran.
Potokos cleared his throat. All debate immediately ceased. The members of the Inner Congress, all seven of them, looked to him.
"Food production must be raised," Potokos said. "Before more of our people starve. We must protect the welfare of our people."
"I can't control the weather," Kioren blustered. "Three years of drought during the spring followed by late summer storms have wreaked havoc with the crops. And there have been raids from the fugitives living in the mountains."
Kuran waited for something terrible to happen to Kioren. Potokos would not admit to the existence of the people living in the mountains though it was common knowledge they were there.
Potokos tightened his lips. "Citizen Kioren," he said in his clipped voice. "There are no people in the mountains. Only the citizens of Tivor. Do you understand me?"
"Deny it all you want," Kioren said. "It won't change facts. Their numbers have been growing. We've had escapes from the farms. They go to the mountains."
Esua, the Minister of Planetary Relations, raised his hand. "Please, Citizen Kioren," he said in a calming voice, "I do not see the relevance to our current crisis. Can we produce enough food to sustain our citizens?"
Potokos shot an irritated look at Esua. He did not like having his power challenged, in any way.
Kioren shook his head, making his jowls wobble. "We have barely enough to last us until the next harvest. If I were given authorization," he looked to Potokos, "and more workers, I could convert land in the southern regions to crop fields. The soils are poor, but the climate is more moderate."
"And it won't solve our problems," Shaydoc pointed out. "The land is poor and will only produce for a few short years. And then what? You clear more land? And depopulate the cities and factories to get workers."
"What of the rebellion?" Atera asked. He was slender, with brown hair and brown eyes. He was in charge of transportation networks on Tivor.
"What of it?" Shaydoc bristled. "We hunt down one nest and ten more pop up. The real source is within Milaga itself." He shot an accusing look at Kuran. "If the police were doing their job, we wouldn't have these problems."
"We are closing in on the leaders of the resistance," Kuran said smoothly. "Our raid last week netted several of their key people."
"And what of the Patrol spy?" Shaydoc demanded.
"She has been dealt with," Kuran answered.
"This accomplishes nothing," Potokos announced. "We must find a way to crush the resistance once and for all. We cannot do that without adequate food for our troops. Suggestions?" He raised his gaze to the light fixture overhead. If Potokos did not see you speak, you would remain anonymous.
The room was silent for a long moment.
"We need outside assistance," Zotan, Minister of Information, finally said. "The Patrol has sent an Admiral and one of their ships—"
"To spy on us!" Shaydoc interjected.
"To inspect their base," Kuran said. "He won't find anything amiss. He won't see anything."
"He has asked to meet with the Inner Congress," Esua said.
"What help will the Empire offer us? Where were they six years ago? Why are they here now?" That came from Hydos, Minister of Manufacturing and Trade. "They buy our goods, at cut prices, then tell us they want more and they want them cheaper or they will cut off all trade. I say we tell the Patrol and the Empire we don't want their trade. I say we throw them off our world."
"And what?" Zotan asked. "We can't survive without their support."
"We won't get their technology," Hydos argued. "But we don't need their technology or their condescending attitudes."
"But we are part of the Empire," Esua said. "We have sworn allegiance to the Emperor."
"Not me," Hydos said. "They use us, and abuse us, and give nothing of value in return. Our equipment they so graciously agreed to sell us is twenty years out of date. Wouldn't you agree, Zotan? How current are your computers?"
Zotan squirmed, put on the spot.
"Years out of date," Hydos continued. "As is all of our manufacturing equipment."
"And you argue that we make it better by throwing the Empire out? How will that help?" Atera asked. "We need what they give us."
"Scraps," Hydos answered hotly. "Old equipment that otherwise would be junked. And we pay for each and every piece of it as if it were valuable. Because they give us no other choice."
"What you say sounds very close to treason," Shaydoc said, eyes narrowing.
"Treason to an Emperor we have never seen, who only wants what he can take from us," Hydos said. "Not to our revered leader or to Tivor."
"What other option is there?" Zotan asked.
"The Federation," Hydos said quietly, as if afraid to say it loud enough that someone outside the room might hear.
The members of the Inner Congress looked to Kuran. Potokos lowered his gaze from the ceiling overhead. They all waited.
Kuran picked up a sheaf of paper, the proposed agreement with the Federation. He placed it in the center of the table.
"I read through what they proposed. The Federation wishes to reach an agreement with us. They will offer help with our agriculture and manufacturing, in the guise of experts sent to evaluate our methods. They offer money and equipment, as well. Whatever we need. In return, they ask two things. First, we must send a certain number of our citizens to serve in their military."
"That is not a problem," Shaydoc said. "I have troops that need training. Let them shoulder the cost."
"True," Kuran agreed, "military service is no hardship. The second requirement is the problem. They wish us to completely change our form of government. They would give us five years to implement the changes, but basically, citizens, they would remove us from power. They would destroy our way of life."
The others sat silent as the implications became clear.
"Esua will continue to negotiate, with my help, of course," Kuran said. "But their terms are unacceptable and I do not believe they will compromise more than they already have."
"Then what choice do we have? Why negotiate with them at all?" Kioren asked, bewildered.
"We are in a position of great power," Kuran said. "I've been doing a bit of research. With Zotan's help."
Zotan nodded and tried to look as if he knew what Kuran was talking about.
"If I may impose on your time just a few moments longer?" Kuran asked politely.
"Show us," Potokos ordered.
Kuran tapped the table, opening the projector controls. He touched the appropriate buttons. A glowing map of the Empire spread over the table. The stars burned red.
"The Empire, citizens," Kuran said. "As it was five years ago. As you can see, Tivor is in a relatively isolated
area. The Empire has no reason to care what happens to us."
"As we all know too well," Hydos said impatiently.
Kuran tapped the controls again. Stars around the edges of the Empire changed to an angry orange. "The Fringe worlds," Kuran identified them. "And here," he tapped again. Four stars lit up blue. "The Federation."
"What is your point?" Hydos pressed.
"That was five years ago," Kuran said. He touched the controls once more.
Orange stars flickered and changed to blue. Red stars began to change. The blue lights spread through the edges of the Empire. One arm reached around Tivor, past them and quite deep into Imperial space. The red stars near the blue arm flickered.
"As you can see, citizens of Tivor," Kuran said, "we are no longer unimportant. If the Empire is to hold these worlds, they must hold Tivor." He spread his hand through the map.
"Ah," Shaydoc grinned. "If we threaten to join the Federation, they will have to give us whatever we ask for to keep us. Or risk losing thirty systems beyond us."
"Precisely," Kuran said. "We hold a position of power. I suggest we continue to negotiate with the Federation. And hold that threat over the Patrol Admiral when he comes begging for our aid."
"Devious," Zotan commented.
Hydos frowned, tugging his lip. "What's to stop the Patrol from taking over completely?"
"The Patrol is stretched too thin," Kuran said. "Zotan shared information with me that a full Fleet has defected to the Federation. The Patrol cannot risk alienating its own people. They do not have the troops, unless they pull them from somewhere else. And that, citizens, they will not do. The Empire is threatened. They will give us whatever we ask in return for our promise to support them."
"And what will that mean?" Hydos asked.
"That we continue to allow their ships to land here," Kuran said. "Nothing more than we have already granted them."
"They will pay us well for the privilege." Potokos' smile was cold, his thin lips disappearing entirely against his teeth. "I approve. Schedule a meeting with this Admiral for two days from now. I wish only Esua and Kuran to be in attendance at the meeting."
"Yes, Citizen Prime," they murmured as they bowed their heads to Potokos.
Kuran was not the only one to note the offended looks some of them gave Potokos. He met Shaydoc's eyes across the table and nodded. The others would be watched, closely. Atera in particular. He'd been spotted in areas where he had no business being.
Chapter 12
"Tilyn?"
Tilyn turned in his chair. The police technician, Viona, stood nervously just outside his barricade of bookshelves and filing cabinets. She lifted a handful of papers.
"Your results are here," she said. "May I come in?"
"Please. What results?"
"That DNA sample. The hair?"
Tilyn shrugged. "The case is closed. I must have forgotten to tell you."
"So you found out who she is?" Viona looked so disappointed Tilyn took pity on her.
"Show me anyway. I don't have any other cases right now."
Viona brightened immediately. She spread two pages on his desk. He looked down at the strange squiggles. It made no sense to him.
"Do you see it?" Viona asked.
"See what?"
"These," Viona pointed to a wavy set of lines. "This DNA is really different."
"How?" Tilyn asked, intrigued.
"Whoever this is, she isn't like everyone else on Tivor. This here," she circled one set of squiggles with her finger, "I've never seen that before."
"A problem with the test?"
She shook her head. Her short dark hair bobbed with the movement. "I ran it three times to make certain. And then I cross referenced it with our files. This is what I found."
She spread her other pages across his desk. He looked at more squiggles.
"Please explain," he said when she stood back in satisfaction, as if it were perfectly clear.
"This one," Viona said, pointing to one sheet, "is what I call the standard reference. Tivorans will closely resemble this with only minor variations. Hold them up, like this."
She took the sheet and the one from Tilyn's hair sample and held them up to the light, one on top of the other.
He could see where they varied. The squiggles were offset from each other.
"She's close enough to a native Tivoran that there is only a mild shift," Viona explained. "I found these in our files."
She picked up two more sheets. She watched as Tilyn raised them overhead, comparing the squiggles to the standard.
"Very different," he commented.
"Yes," Viona agreed. "But check where the samples came from."
Tilyn looked at the pages again. There was a criminal case number on each.
"I looked them up and printed out the summary," Viona offered. She slid two more sheets out of her pile. "This one is a man picked up three years ago outside one of the work farms. He died of exposure not long afterwards. His results are very different. And this," she indicated the other squiggle page, "is a man caught shortly after the food riots twenty five years ago."
"His scans match the other man's, not the standard," Tilyn said.
"The name he gave was Noruti'nei. There are no records of him other than his arrest record. What's really puzzling, though, is this scan." She handed him a last page. "Halfway between the men and your subject."
"So what does it mean?" Tilyn asked.
"If I were to guess," Viona said, leaning back against his desk as he compared the sheets, holding them up to the light one after another, "I'd say that this Noruti'nei was the father of this one, and that she is the mother of your subject. There are other markers that support that conclusion."
Tilyn froze. If that were true, he held a potential bomb in his hands.
"I couldn't get a name or a case for the woman," Viona said, unaware of his sudden fear. "All I could get was the number, the rest is classified."
"For good reason." Tilyn glanced up at the tech. He'd always liked her. She was more interested in the puzzle of her data than in finding someone guilty. She enjoyed the challenge of figuring it out, like he did. He wanted to trust her.
She cocked her head, watching him out of deep blue eyes. With her dark hair and fair skin she was quite pretty. "What reason? It's an old case. At least twenty years old. How does it relate to your current case?"
"It isn't my case anymore," Tilyn said. "It doesn't all fit, though."
"Tell me and maybe I can help," Viona offered.
He leaned back in his chair, sliding the papers onto his desk. "This woman has to be Lirondalla Muberretton. Her daughter, Zeresthina Dasmuller, was sent here as a spy by the Patrol. She's at a work farm now."
"That's where you got the hair sample from." Viona picked up one of the scans and studied it. "This means she's only partly native to Tivor. But that doesn't make sense."
"Her father was Patrol, stationed here some time ago." Tilyn scrubbed a hand through his hair. "I don't even know if any of this is important."
"What about the mountain people? I heard a story once that there are other people there, not human. They have some kind of mind power. No one ever sees them, though. They're probably just stories."
"And maybe not. Doesn't this prove something?" He waved his hand over his desk.
"That the woman you arrested is not quite human and that her mother was only half human and her grandfather was completely different."
"And that the mountain people aren't just a story," Tilyn said. He swept the papers into a pile. "The case is solved. The woman is not a problem. I'm sorry to have wasted your time."
"It was entertaining," Viona answered with a smile. "I enjoyed the challenge. And," she stood up smoothing her tunic, "I wouldn't dismiss the puzzle quite yet. I think there's more here than you think."
She walked out of his corner. He watched her. His gut instinct told him she was right. There was a lot more to this story than he thought.
Chapter 1
3
I was nudged awake late one night. It was cold, so cold my breath frosted on the air. Jhon stood over me.
"Time to move," he whispered.
I didn't want to. But I didn't want to die slowly on the work farm, either. I rolled out of the bunk, taking my blanket with me. One of my bunkmates blinked his eyes open. He silently got up with me. The woman rolled over and went back to sleep.
There was a group of ten waiting silently near the door. The grimy window next to it let in very little light. The sky was clouded over, no moon showed. I wiped at the glass then peered out. There was no sign of anyone outside.
"It's locked," one of the other prisoners whispered. They shuffled their feet, resigned to another aborted escape.
"There's no way to open it," another one added. It was bolted from the outside. Even with my lockpicks, I couldn't have opened it.
I saw a flash of annoyance cross Jhon's face. It seemed odd, out of character. The look was gone so quickly I wasn't sure I had really seen it.
I turned my attention back to the window. It was so old the frame was cracked and warped. I pushed the sash, trying to open the window. Cold air poured through as I shoved it up. It stuck long before it was all the way up. The hole was small, but no smaller than some of the access ports I'd crawled through.
"What are you doing?" Jhon asked me.
"Give me a boost," I whispered.
He knelt and cupped his hands. I stepped on them and he lifted me up to the window. I crawled through the hole, wriggling my way with difficulty. I almost got stuck. I finally got my hips free and drew my legs out. I lowered myself to the ground.
It was very dark outside. There were only a few lights on the fence. The guard tower was silent and dark. The wind gusted past, freezing cold. I crouched down. I still had one item hidden, a length of wire threaded through the seam of my boot. I worked it free.
The lock on the door was old, easily picked. I eased the wire into the lock, feeling my way. The tumblers lifted. I hadn't lost my touch, even if my fingers were going numb. I opened the door.
