“I get it. They probably transported the animals using an embryonic casing, which means that all the first animals were raised from scratch. I know a few things about terraforming, at least the kind of technology used by the Union,” Carr explained.
Sanchez seemed impressed. “How did you learn about terraforming?” This time, Carr did not answer. He pretended not to hear and she let it go.
“One thing I don’t notice here, though,” continued Sanchez, “and granted we’re not very close to the houses, but I don’t see any domesticated pets. Farmers usually keep them around to help control the vermin. I suppose if you’re colonizing, you can’t bring everything with you.” Carr hoped that meant no dogs, which would make their job a lot easier. He knew from experience that nothing could spoil skulking around like a faithful canine.
As they made progress toward the settlement, both of them enjoyed their surroundings. The sky was clear, with only the occasional cumulus cloud drifting overhead. It was the beginning of autumn and the trees were just starting to slip into their fall colors. The day was hot, with Carr guessing the temperature to be somewhere around twenty-seven Celsius. Birds were singing—not many, but there were a few. The pair had seen wildlife all around them since beginning the walk—birds, squirrels, insects and the like, but Carr guessed it would take decades or more for nature to make a complete comeback.
They memorized their route into town so they could find their way back to the ships. The distinctiveness of the farmhouses helped mark a mental path back to Kite and Kestrel. Some sort of homing beacon technology could have been employed, but there was always the possibility of capture and the last thing they wanted was for those ships to fall into enemy hands.
Stopping several times in inconspicuous places for rest and water, Carr was concerned that Sanchez’s nerves might be getting the better of her. “Not too late to turn around and go back to the ship,” he ventured at one of their stops. “No one will think the worse of you.”
“Please don’t start that—you promised. The only place I’m going is with you,” she said. “Passing those farmers back there has me thinking about how to act when we get to town.”
“Just act like you belong,” he counseled her. “But don’t make unnecessary conversation, don’t gawk around in an obvious manner and don’t stare. Blend in. And one more thing—always be thinking ahead. Fieldwork is like Arimaa or chess. Whatever happens, you always have to have a plan B ready to go at a moment’s notice.”
As they reached the edge of the city, they chose a location on a small hillside near the river. It had a stand of trees for cover and would serve as their base camp. The spot was close to town, but not located near any buildings or roads. They stowed their packs under the trees and covered them with brush. It was time to undertake an initial sortie through the outskirts of the settlement. A quick look and listen, then back to camp to observe and spend the night. Tomorrow would see a more extensive recon deeper into the city and then back to the ship by nightfall. They would lift off late tomorrow night and rendezvous with the task force, or at least that was the plan.
It was already late afternoon by the time they stepped onto the first paved streets. In the distance, they could hear what sounded like some sort of festivities going on in the direction of the town center. There was music playing over loud speakers and the occasional cheering crowd.
“Not many people around. It must be a holiday or something,” guessed Sanchez.
“I just wonder what they’re celebrating. I hope it’s not a victory over Task Force Nineteen,” said Carr.
Walking on sidewalks now, it seemed like they could be in any Union city—but not. They were passing what appeared to be mass housing units. Some were made of local materials: stone, bricks, even wood. Others however were unmistakably pre-fabricated buildings and a few structures were obviously made out of the remains of spaceship hulls. There looked to be no private houses. A few motorized vehicles passed by on the streets, but the thoroughfares were mostly clear. It was either a holiday or perhaps a religious day.
The signs on the street and buildings were in the common language of humanity—Idolingua. They could read them, but didn’t always understand them. PHARMACY, FINE CLOTHING, and RESTAURANT were plain enough, but what was a MACRODEMIST or a POCENAN SHOPPE?
One word that repeated on various signs was BAKKOA, which they surmised was the settlement’s name. In addition, another word was ubiquitous in one form or another: EMPIRE. Hail to the Emperor. Glory to the Empire. Be proud to be an Imperial citizen. There was a storm of propaganda in all directions. Both of them also spotted something else—surveillance cams. Not many, but a few here and there, and those were just the ones they could see.
In terms of the people themselves, they all looked, well, like people. Two arms, two legs, one head. Carr was initially concerned that his shaved noggin might stand out, but eventually he spotted several smooth-headed men and a few women as well. He suggested that Sanchez try the style, which earned him a playful punch in the arm.
The people they passed on the street spoke Idolingua, either to each other or into their mobiles. They heard the same bits of conversation about the same types of things you’d hear anywhere else: what to have for dinner tonight, hate to go to work tomorrow, my teenage son is driving me crazy…
However, the reaction of a few people toward them was curious. Most folks paid them no attention, but some people seemed to gawk. Carr thought he might be imagining it, but Sanchez agreed—they were definitely getting some looks.
“Maybe it’s the clothes,” guessed Carr.
“No, it’s not,” insisted Sanchez. “We got lucky on that, but the clothes are all right. It’s something else. These people giving us the hairy eyeball, I don’t sense hostility from them.” After a few seconds, she had it. “It’s fear. They’re afraid of us.”
As they walked along, Carr got the feeling that Sanchez might be right. “OK, let’s put it to the test.” He took her arm and steered her into a building on their left, a grocery store.
“But we don’t have any money,” she protested in a hushed voice.
Carr smiled as they passed through the entrance. “Maybe we won’t need any,” he said as the lieutenant commander looked at him as if he had been out in the sun too long.
“I don’t know what the hell you’re up to, but I hope you have your plan B ready to go.”
“Always,” replied Carr.
The store was spacious, bigger than a neighborhood grocery store, but not as big as a supermarket. As they ambled down the aisles, they observed the variety of products filling the shelves, most of them wrapped or boxed in generic packaging. Things were labeled by product type: vegetable soup, snack crackers, laundry detergent, toothpaste, but nothing had a brand name on it.
The few shoppers who were in the store reacted to them the same way people did outside—some ignored them and some stared. Most people carried small shopping baskets, but when Sanchez moved to get one from the front of the store, Carr stopped her.
“I thought you said to blend in.”
“I know what I said, but I’ve got a hunch,” he insisted. “Play along with me.”
As they continued to look around, an older man in an employee uniform approached them. He hesitated, and then addressed Carr. “Is there anything I can help you with, sir?”
Sanchez put on a friendly face, but Carr gave the man a firm look. “Just looking around,” he answered in a severe tone that took Sanchez by surprise.
The older man nodded, but he was definitely anxious. He glanced around, for what Sanchez wasn’t sure. She did notice that all the other customers had disappeared into different aisles. Carr picked up a box of facial tissues, inspected the box, and then placed it back on the shelf. He did the same with a few other items, the other man standing by in case he was needed.
The older gentleman finally spoke up again. “I am Annar, the store manager. Is there some problem, sir?”
“No, no problem. I t
old you we were just checking,” Carr answered.
“Checking? What are you checking? We have a very fine store here. Ask any of our customers,” Annar said defensively, although all of his customers seem to have fled. “Honestly, if there’s been a complaint…”
For the first time, Carr favored the man with a smile, although it was a very brittle smile. “No complaints, Annar. No complaints at all,” he stated in a voice that did not sound reassuring. Picking up a bar of soap wrapped in paper, Carr held it out to the man. “How much?”
The older man gave a quick glance at the soap. “For you? A gift. Please, take it with our store’s compliments.” Carr slipped the soap into his pants pocket, nodded at the store manager and led Sanchez back out onto the street.
“Quiz time,” Carr declared as they walked away from the grocery store. “What’s going on? Have you gotten it yet?”
Sanchez was trying to think like a seasoned operative. “Well, let me see. Obviously, some of these people think we’re someone important. Maybe we look like someone—no, that’s just stupid.”
Carr grinned. “You can do better than that. I’ll give you a clue. Remember all those posters about the Empire. All Hail the Empire!” he said in a mocking voice, clamming up as they passed another couple.
“Police! They think were secret police or something. An authoritarian culture and strangers walking around who look just a little out of place. That’s pretty good, Carr. How’d you know?”
“Been there before—had a similar situation on Cardea once. A lot of this job is just experience, and being lucky enough to make it to the next assignment in order to use what you’ve learned.” They reached the riverbank where they found a small park with some benches and a children’s playground. Carr stopped, but did not sit down. “I’m still not positive, but I think secret police is a good guess. And I suspect a lot of those people who were ignoring us actually had us spotted too, they’re just better at playing the game than the ones who stared.”
“Of course, that presents a potential problem,” Sanchez said, as some anxiety crept into her voice. “If there are real secret police…”
“I know. Let’s get out of here.”
The sun was very low on the horizon and the OMI operatives walked westward beside the river as they left Bakkoa. They checked frequently to make sure they weren’t being followed and to spy out any surveillance cams that might be around, but Carr was satisfied that they were in the clear on both counts. Both of them were very tired and it was about time to turn south and head back to their stashed equipment. Before that however, Carr was determined to do one thing.
“I know the water’s going to be cold,” he said as he stopped and began stripping off his clothes, “but I just have to grab a quick bath, one that actually involves water and not that damn gel.”
She laughed and rolled her eyes. “Gods, I don’t believe you!”
Sanchez sat down on the bank of what was once called the Dordogne River. Carr had decided that if Sanchez could forsake modesty in the preparations for hypersleep, he could do the same for a bath.
“Back in the store, you didn’t think I went for that bar of soap just by chance did you?” he asked as he peeled off his pants. “You coming in?” Naked with his back to her, he began to wade into the water.
“Depends. How cold is it?”
Carr carried his bar of soap into the river. “I’m not gonna lie to you, it’s cool,” he shouted at her, beginning to scrub himself.
Sanchez stood and looked around. “What the hell,” she said under her breath.
The sun had now completely disappeared and the last light of the day was fading fast. As Sanchez undressed and entered the water, Carr tossed her the soap.
“You call this cool? Damn cold if you ask me,” she snarled and began to scrub.
“The longer you’re in, the better it gets, but I really did mean a quick bath. It’s been a long day and we need to get some rest.”
“Yeah,” she laughed. “Being the first Renaissance Sector humans to land on Earth in three hundred years, finding a top-secret stolen spaceship with a dead body inside it, walking twelve klicks on a hot day to sneak into an alien settlement, and being mistaken for secret police sure does take it out of you.”
The two of them finished washing, headed back to the riverbank, and got dressed. Carr tried to be as chivalrous as possible in keeping his eyes to himself, but he found himself sneaking a quick glance at Sanchez as she emerged from the river and another as they were getting dressed. If she noticed, she didn’t say anything, for which he was grateful.
“Carr,” she asked as they were dressing, “after today’s little recon, you have any ideas as to where these people came from?”
“Best money would be on one of the lost colonies out toward the Rim, but I don’t know, something about that still doesn’t feel right to me. The whole language thing just doesn’t fit.
“We did learn a few new things today. The settlement looks like they’ve been here for a while, at least a decade. And, we’re pretty sure this is an authoritarian society. They also probably have a secret police force, though we’ve yet to confirm that.”
Sanchez pulled on her top. “That could be a problem if we go deeper into town tomorrow.”
“Yes, I’ve considered that too. Well, tomorrow the streets should be busier, which will help us blend in more. We really need to check out the center of town so we can let Admiral Getchell know about any possible troop or weapon deployments, anything we may have missed from Kite.”
“Right. Oh, and another thing—no sign of Commander Amy Beth Warrick today either,” she said, in reference to the still at-large thief of Kestrel.
Carr grunted. “Maybe. Hell, she could have been standing right next to us and we wouldn’t have known it. She’s a wild card.” As he tugged on his socks, he muttered, “I hate wild cards.”
They found their way back to the hillside retreat and discovered their things just as they had left them. Under the cover of the trees and bushes, Sanchez set up a small tent, while Carr took one final look at the colony through sensor goggles. Many lights were on, especially around the edges of town where most of the residential areas probably were. Soon afterward however, the lights began to go out. Either these people turned in early, or there were power restrictions in effect during the evening.
As Carr headed for the tent, the air was quickly turning cool. Sanchez, still chilled from her dip in the river, had cracked open a heat disk. Dinner was ready—combat ration packets again. They both supped on brisket and soba noodles. It wasn’t the best of the CRPs, but it tasted good because they were both hungry.
“Well, how did you like your first day as an operative?” he asked during the meal.
Slurping a noodle into her mouth, Sanchez chewed and thought before her reply. “You’re going to either laugh or get mad at me, but I thought it was—fun.”
“Fun? How so?” he asked showing neither humor nor anger.
“Well, it was kind of like when I pilot a ship. The flying gets me all pumped up—it’s an adrenaline rush. I had that same feeling today. Don’t you find it to be exhilarating? Isn’t that at least partly why you do it?”
“I don’t do this for fun, I do it to get paid,” he responded bluntly. “I suppose I’ve worked at it so long that the thrill has worn off.” He took a gulp of water to wash down his meal. “When we first met, I had you pegged for the nerdy type and now I discover that you’re a thrill seeker.” She laughed at the remark. “I’m glad you’re having fun, but just remember that this really is like flying in one respect—one bad mistake and you never fly again.”
After dinner, Sanchez wanted to go outside to do some stretching exercises, but her body was tired and still cold, so she decided just to get some sleep. Their field tent was small—very small. Carr suspected it was actually designed for only one person, so he started to pull his bedroll outside, only to have Sanchez protest.
“You’ll be cold out there and you ne
ed a good night’s rest too,” she pointed out. “Besides, I’m still shivering from that damn swim. At the very least, sleep inside so your body heat helps warm up the tent.”
“How can you be cold? You’re sleeping with your clothes on, in a tent, next to a heat disk?” It was an argument he lost, and he settled down for sleep—inside the tent.
As they lay back to back in the narrow space, Carr went over in his mind what needed to be done tomorrow. He had just about fallen asleep when he felt rustling beside him. Sanchez had abandoned her sleeping bag, unzipped his, and was sliding in next to him.
“What are you doing?” he asked, still in the twilight between consciousness and sleep.
“I’m cold. Go back to sleep,” she said in a drowsy voice. He felt the front of her body press into his back and her left arm draped across his hip.
“Whatever,” he muttered, thinking he would wait a while, then slip out of the tent and finish the night under one of the trees. Fatigue won out however, as he fell back into slumber, at least that’s what he told himself the next morning.
Outside, at the edge of the tree stand, two small pairs of eyes watched the tent for further movement. Waiting five more minutes and seeing none, the small creatures headed back toward the colony.
12: Game
Esterkeep
The Centroplex
Nico Stavrianos didn’t like surprises and he didn’t like Stone Siebert much either. Therefore, when the Minister of Home Affairs unexpectedly dropped by the general’s Centroplex office in mid-morning, Stavrianos was more than a little put out. The general was a man of routine and he reserved 10:00 hours each morning to check over the daily status reports from the Union’s six planetary commanders. As far as Stavrianos was concerned, it was a much more valuable use of his time than entertaining that blowhard Siebert.
Nonetheless, as his aide Colonel Hinojosa ushered Siebert into the office, Stavrianos extended a welcoming hand and urged the Minister into a comfortable chair. The general was in his early sixties and a tad overweight. His gray army uniform fit more snugly than it used to, but he was positively svelte when compared to Siebert. The Minister of Home Affairs had to weigh at least 130 kilograms, maybe more. Lack of discipline, thought the general. Had Siebert served in the military, perhaps he would not have let himself go like this. Note to self.
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