Dawnwind 1: Last Man Standing

by George R. Shirer

  In the here and now, lightening flashed and John jumped a little, pulled out of his reveries. Shaking his head, he retreated indoors and tapped his comm. “Connect me with Instructor Imiro Lewij at the Junian Guard Institute, please.”

  His comm warbled and a few seconds later, a familiar voice said, “This is Instructor Lewij.”

  “Good morning, instructor. This is John Epcott. How are you?”

  “I think I should be asking you that question, John,” said Lewij. “I’ve been watching the newsfeeds.”

  “I’m fine,” said John. “I was hoping you and I might get together and talk. I have some questions about the Zerraxi I was hoping you could answer.”

  “Oh?” Lewij sounded intrigued. “I have classes until 1500 hours, but after that, I’m free. Could you meet me at the Institute?”

  “Sure. Let’s say, 1600 hours?”

  “Perfect. Meet me in my office.”

  “Thank you, instructor. I’ll see you then.” He tapped his comm, closing the channel, and then tapped it again. “Contact Olu.”

  She answered almost immediately. “This is Olu Teneso. How can I help you?”

  “Hi, Olu. It’s John.”

  “Good morning, John. This is a pleasant surprise.”

  “I wanted to let you know that I’m meeting Instructor Lewij at the Institute this afternoon, at 1600 hours.”

  “Are you sure you’re ready to go out in public? It’s only been a few days and privacy doesn’t extend beyond the house.”

  “As comfortable as it is here, Olu, I can’t spend the rest of my life in the house,” said John. “I’ve got to venture back out into the world sometime.”

  Her sigh was audible over the comm. “I suppose.”

  “Vesu has his late class tonight, doesn’t he?”

  “Yes.”

  “What if, after my meeting with Lewij, the three of us go out for dinner?”

  “Are you sure about that, John? The newsmakers. . . .”

  John snorted. “If the newsmakers pester me for a story, I can always offer to kick one of them in the balls.”

  A burst of startled laughter erupted from Olu. “John! You aren’t serious, are you?”

  “Come out to dinner with me tonight, and find out.”

  “Apparently, I’ll have to, just to try and keep you out of trouble,” chided Olu. “I’ll let Vesu know what we’re planning. Comm me when you’re finished talking with Lewij.”

  * * * * *

  By 1500 hours, the rain had stopped. John had bathed and dressed, choosing a sheer yellow under-robe, and a red, hooded over-robe. He had even applied eyepaint, surrounding his eyes with a shade of pale blue and applying just a hint of the sparkle-powder that Junians liked so much. Looking at his reflection in the mirror, he couldn’t help but shake his head.

  “Ziggy Stardust Lite,” he muttered.

  He summoned a groundcar. When it arrived, a few moments later, John flipped the hood of his over-robe up, took a breath and stepped out of the house. There was a private groundcar parked down the street, bearing the logo of a commercial news agency. As soon as John had stepped out of the house, the car’s doors slid open, and a reporter emerged. He was young with long, dark red hair and wore a violet and blue jumpsuit with the news agency’s logo prominently displayed. A gray sphere floated after him, covered with sensor nubs.

  “Mister Epcott!”

  John paused at the end of the rock path that led to the house. Standing there, he tucked his hands into the voluminous sleeves of his over-robe and plastered a smile on his face. The young man rushed up to him, smiling.

  “Mister Epcott, I’m Fi Mosu, from the Junian Information Network. I’d like to ask you some questions.”

  John made a show of glancing at his timeband. “Well, I am on my way to meet some friends, but I suppose I could answer a question or two.”

  Mosu’s youthful face lit up. “Wonderful! Can you tell our viewers how you’re doing?”

  “I’m fine,” said John.

  “I’m sure our viewers will be pleased to know that, sir. Can you tell us your feelings about this Zerraxi outrage?”

  John arched an eyebrow. “Zerraxi outrage?”

  “The unprovoked attacks on innocents by members of a bestial race!”

  “That,” said John, carefully, “is a dangerous generalization to make.”

  “Can you deny that the Zerraxi are dangerous?”

  “What a silly question. Of course I can’t deny that some Zerraxi are dangerous, but you don’t judge an entire species based on the actions of a few criminals.”

  Mosu frowned and then decided to change tactics. “You seem remarkably forgiving.”

  John smiled. “I’ve had the support of good friends during a trying time. Speaking of good friends, Mr. Mosu, I have to go now, or I’ll be late.”

  He did not wait for the reporter to comment, simply nodded and stepped past him to the groundcar. As John slid inside, he turned and smiled pleasantly at the reporter, who was looking less than pleased. The groundcar’s door slid shut and the auto-driver asked for his destination. John told it where he wanted to go, then settled back in the seat to think about things.

  * * * * *

  The Junian Guard Institute was east of the city, beyond a broad expanse of preserved forest. It was, for all practical purposes, a small city of its own. Access to the Institute grounds was tightly controlled and all visitors had to check in at the main gates. The fact that the Institute had gates at all was an oddity in Junian culture. It was, John thought, less about security and more about psychology, sending a very subtle signal to cadets and visitors alike that the Guard was separate.

  John’s public groundcar could not enter the Institute, so he climbed out and presented himself to the guardsmen at the gate. After a brief wait, he was allowed to enter the grounds, where an Institute groundcar transported him to the main academic complex.

  The Institute’s main building was a nine-story tower. It loomed over the smaller buildings that seemed to have sprung up in its shade. All the academic buildings were windowless, their exteriors resembling dark orange stone. Stone paths connected the buildings at ground level. Cadets in dark gray hurried between the buildings, weaving between guardsmen wearing black and green uniforms, and the more brightly dressed civilian instructors.

  It was almost 1600 hours when John stepped into the main building and made his way to an information desk. The cadet on duty gave him directions to Instructor Lewij’s office. John noted the curiosity in the young woman’s eyes, but she did not ask any questions, other than if he would like someone to guide him. John politely declined, thanked the cadet for her help and continued on his way.

  Lewij’s office was a cozy space on the fifth floor with soft pink walls and orange carpeting. The woman herself sat in a plush chair, wearing her usual gray robes. She was fiddling with a PIN when John arrived, her plump face bearing an expression of mild irritation.

  “You look like you just bit into something sour, instructor.”

  Lewij looked up, her dark yellow eyebrows raised in surprise. “John. Is it 1600 already?” She pushed back the sleeve of her robe and glanced at her timeband. “Merciful pantheon! Where does the time go?”

  Shaking her head, Lewij hopped out of her chair, threw her PIN on the seat, and greeted John with a warm hug. Imiro Lewij was a short, plump woman with coarse, pale skin and long yellow hair. Her full mouth was expressive, and she grinned at John as she waved him to an overstuffed couch.

  “Sit! Sit!” She gave him an assessing look. “You certainly don’t look any the worse for your recent experience.”

  “I’d be a lot happier if everyone would stop treating me like I’m made of glass,” said John, rolling his eyes.

  Lewij laughed. “Have Olu and Vesu been overprotective?”

  “No, not really. They’ve just been very diligent regarding their promise to look after me.”

  “Do you need looking after?” asked Lewij. Her eyes glimmered wit
h amusement.

  “Sometimes. Maybe.”

  “Hah! I’m sure!” She crossed to the far wall, opened a panel and pulled out a tall, dark blue bottle and a pair of glasses. “Have a drink with me.”

  He took a glass. “What is it?”

  “Tiel,” said Lewij. She tucked the bottle under one arm and twisted a cap off, one-handed.

  “A wine?” asked John, as Lewij filled his glass with a dark, red liquid. He brought the glass to his nose and sniffed. The tiel had a surprisingly pungent aroma.

  “Hardly,” said Lewij. “A synthetic, cooked up by Institute cadets ages ago.” She poured herself a glass, raised it to John, and then tossed it back. “It smells like an industrial solvent, but goes down smooth.”

  Tentatively, John tried the beverage. It tasted . . . well, it didn’t really have a taste. He swallowed a mouthful. Lewij watched him with interest.

  John shrugged. “Maybe it’s too mild for me.”

  “Ah well,” said Lewij. She poured herself another glass and sat next to him. “So, what did you want to see me about, John? Something about the Zerraxi, wasn’t it?”

  “I’d like to know what’s going to happen to the Zerraxi behind the assaults in the Alien Sector.”

  “Hmm.” Lewij considered her glass. “That’s difficult to say. They’ll be returned to Zerrax, obviously, where they’ll be judged by their respective tribes. Depending on their status within the tribe and Zerraxi society at large, the punishments can be varied.” She eyed him. “Why do you ask?”

  “You know that one of the Zerraxi there, during the attack on me, was the ambassador’s son?”

  Lewij nodded. “I’d heard. Bad luck for old Zaquo.”

  “The thing is, I went and checked the other assault reports. The ambassador’s son wasn’t present at the other attacks. Just mine. And he was . . . very young.”

  “Hmm,” murmured Lewij. “Young Katis. I don’t believe he’s even had his satok ze yet.”

  “So, he’s still just a kid?”

  “Not exactly. He definitely wouldn’t be viewed as a child by his race. His status would be akin to our own Junian youth, going through the lifechange. A certain amount of leeway would be given in view of his age and development, but only a certain amount. And, of course, there would be other factors taken into account during his trail.”

  “Like what?”

  “His status,” said Lewij. “As the son of an ambassador, Katis has a higher status than most Zerraxi his age. He would be held to a higher standard of conduct, not just because he’s helping to represent his tribe, but his entire culture.”

  John winced. “That’s got to be a lot of pressure.”

  “I imagine it is,” said Lewij. “His involvement in this scandal is going to have some serious repercussions for himself and his entire tribe. They’ve all been tainted by association. The only way they can preserve their status, is by dealing harshly with the boy and the people responsible for raising him.”

  “Ambassador Zaquo could lose his position,” said John.

  “That won’t be up to Zaquo’s tribe, unless they’re currently dominating the Zerraxi Council. But I’ll be shocked if old Zaquo doesn’t resign his post, to try and repair some of the damage to his tribe’s reputation.”

  “You know the ambassador?”

  “Yes,” said Lewij. “I’ve helped coordinate cultural exchange programs with his embassy for years.” She sighed and poured them more tiel. “Old Zaquo’s very comfortable with his position here,” she said. “He knows how to work with our government, our culture. If he was replaced at this point, I think it might set back relations quite a bit.”

  “Really?”

  Lewij nodded, swallowed another mouthful of tiel. She eyed her glass, frowning. “You know, I think you’re right. This stuff may be too mild.”

  John emptied his glass and leaned back, into the plush couch. “May I ask you a hypothetical question, Lewij?”

  She gave him an amused look. “What sort of hypothetical question?”

  “Hypothetically,” said John, choosing his words carefully, “what if I was mistaken? What if Katis wasn’t one of the assailants, but an innocent Zerraxi who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time?”

  Lewij frowned. “John . . . .”

  “What effect would that have on Ambassador Zaquo’s position?”

  “It would change everything,” she said, after a moment’s hesitation. “But, John. . . .”

  “You know people in the government, don’t you, Lewij? People in the Diplomatic Authority?”

  “Yes,” she said, hesitantly.

  “I think,” said John, head resting on the back of the couch, studying the soft pink ceiling overhead, “that I need to have a . . . hypothetical discussion with one of them.”

  “I’m not sure I’m comfortable with this, John.”

  “I understand, but you said it yourself, Lewij. If Zaquo loses his position, it could set back relations. And, there’s also the fact that I’m not comfortable with the idea of Katis being prosecuted for poor judgment.”

  “You don’t know that it was poor judgment. He was there of his own free will, John. Katis may have planned to participate in the crime, willingly and enthusiastically.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. But you and I both know that Zerraxi psychology is more pack oriented. A dominant, aggressive male could easily coerce or convince a submissive male into doing something against their better judgment.”

  Lewij sighed. “I certainly can’t deny that. Their society is much more hierarchical than our own.”

  “You’ve met Katis, haven’t you?”

  “Yes, at some of the cultural functions I helped arrange.”

  “Did he seem like a dominant male to you?”

  “No,” admitted Lewij. “He did not.”

  “Well, then,” said John, “I think you and I have some comms to make.”

  Still somewhat reluctant, Lewij nodded.

  * * * * *

  Isep Jivis was a youngish man, thin, with dark, coarse skin and short, pale blue hair. He lived and worked in Etin Dov, the capital of Juni. According to Lewij, Jivis worked for the Diplomatic Authority as a kind of fixer. It was seven hours earlier in Etin Dov, so when John and Lewij commed Jivis he had only been in his office an hour.

  After Lewij made introductions, Jivis listened to John Epcott’s hypothetical solution to the Zerraxi ambassador’s diplomatic mess. Jivis, of course, was aware of the stories pouring out of Ted Dov about the recent attacks. He had been wondering if and when his section would have to intervene. The whole situation was in danger of getting out of control, if something wasn’t done soon. Now, here was this alien with a rather elegant solution to at least part of the problem.

  “So, Jivis,” said Lewij, when Epcott had finished his spiel, “what’s your assessment?”

  Jivis had to grin. Even after all these years, Lewij still tended to sound like an instructor when she spoke to him. “I think that Mr. Epcott’s idea has merit, at least from a diplomatic viewpoint. The biggest variable would be the ambassador himself.”

  “What do you mean, Mr. Jivis?” asked Epcott.

  Jivis leaned back in his chair. “Ambassador Zaquo may not approve of being the recipient of charity.”

  “Do you think that’s how he’ll see this?” asked Lewij.

  “Maybe,” said Jivis. “Even if the ambassador didn’t resign, it’s going to be obvious to his government that this action is politically motivated. The Zerraxi may not appreciate it.”

  “Can’t you spin it?” said Epcott.

  Jivis frowned. “I’m sorry? I don’t understand the reference.”

  “Manipulate the perception of events,” said John. “Make it clear to the ambassador that the reason this is being done is out of mutual self-interest. His continued presence benefits both Zerrax and Juni. Right? That’s what everyone keeps telling me.”

  “That is true,” said Jivis, thoughtfully. “But if this is going to work, t
he ambassador and his son will both have to cooperate. His son is going to have to provide an explanation as to why he was in the alley when the peacekeepers took him into custody.”

  “Speaking of the peacekeepers, what about Katis’s statement to them?” asked Lewij.

  “He hasn’t made one,” said Jivis. “None of the Zerraxi have, upon advice of counsel.”

  “Well, that works in our favor, doesn’t it?” said Epcott.

  “Yes,” admitted Jivis. He leaned forward in his chair and touched the interface screen on his desk. His fingers danced across the icons, accessing various infonets. He studied the information for a few moments. “None of the other assault victims describe anyone matching Katis’s description. As a matter of fact, most of them only identify this Vezex person.”

  “Then all we need to do is get the ambassador to go along,” said Epcott.

  “I don’t think that will be as easy as you believe, Mr. Epcott,” said Jivis.

  Lewij grunted. “Old Zaquo has a reputation for scrupulous honesty. He may not be willing to compromise his integrity.”

  “Not even to save the status of his son and tribe?” asked Epcott.

  “Not even then,” said the instructor.

  “I’ll make some comms,” said Jivis. “Approach the ambassador through unofficial channels, see if he’s receptive. If he is....”

  “Should I contact the peacekeepers and change my statement?” asked Epcott.

  “Not yet,” said Jivis. “Hold off on that until we know whether or not the ambassador and his son will cooperate. If they don’t, and you’ve changed your statement, we could have a bigger mess on our hands.”

  “Fine,” said Epcott. “I’ll wait to hear from you.”

  “It’s probably best if we use Instructor Lewij as an intermediary,” said Jivis. “That way there won’t be any direct communication between us.”

  “Works for me. Lewij?”

  Lewij sighed. “And once again I’m drawn into one of your schemes, Isep.”

  Jivis couldn’t help chuckling. “Need I remind you, my dear instructor, that you contacted me this time?”

  “Yes,” said Lewis. “You’ve obviously been a bad influence on me.”