Diaz was more than a little in awe of Daisy, whom he knew fairly well by now, having sailed in her and directed her guns. He was possibly more in awe of Sally, whom he didn’t know. Even so, he spoke freely.
“I swear, I’ll kill the bastards. If they’ve hurt my father, I won’t be quick about letting them die, either.”
“Calm down, son,” Dwyer commanded. “Daisy, Sally, what do we know about the Darhel?”
A hologram appeared in the chaplain’s office. Dwyer didn’t know who had projected it but assumed it was Daisy.
As if to confirm, Daisy spoke up. “I pulled this off the Net. This is the local representative of the Galactic Federation to the Republic of Panama. His title is ‘Rinn Fain.’ This is not a unique title to this person. Rather it represents a mid level bureaucrat or executive, lower than a Tir and considerably lower than a Ghin.”
“Do we know anything about the background of this one?” Dwyer asked.
“Nothing,” Daisy and Sally answered together. Sally continued, “His background could be medicine, or business, or law. There is no telling.”
Dwyer frowned. “Could it be military, or intelligence?”
“That is a faint possibility,” Daisy said. “There is, strictly speaking, no military profession among the Darhel. Nonetheless, they raised a sort of suicide corps from among their kind early on in the Posleen War. They have always had strong capabilities in intelligence, though it was normally of the industrial and mercantile espionage variety.”
The specially programmed shyster-AID projected a chart of the existing chain of command of the forces of the Republic of Panama, with a similar chart of United States’ forces next to it. The Rinn Fain was pleased to see the number of blocks crossed with an X, indicating that the chief of those sections was firmly in custody. Still others were highlighted, indicating that the heads of those were on the list to be picked up. Others, particularly at the very top, were outlined in purple, indicating they were already working for the Darhel and could be expected to continue to do so.
“What is the projection of recovery time, once the local barbarians have filled those holes?” the Darhel enquired of his AID.
“Analysis of personnel records and nepotistic connections indicates that few of those positions can be filled,” the AID answered. “Rather, they will be filled, to a certainty, by humans who will use the powers for their own gain. Once these other people are safely in the hands of the humans’ International Criminal Court the collapse of the defenses of this area will follow at the first push from the Posleen.”
“Any rumblings from the United States about the two of their people the government of Panama has taken in?”
“The local United States embassy is ignoring the entire issue, except that their ambassador has enquired again about off-world travel. Their Southern Command seems to be trying to reach their president but our humans in Washington are deflecting the inquiries, so far.”
“And when is the Himmit transport scheduled to arrive?”
“Three of the local days, milord,” the AID answered.
“The prosecutor at their International Criminal Court is ready to receive the prisoners?”
“She claims to be, but she too seems frantic to travel off-world with her family.”
Interlude
The stars still swam in the quiet stream where Zira and Guano fished almost daily, whenever their agricultural duties permitted.
Guanamarioch stared at those stars as he whispered, “I was just thinking, Zira, what if we didn’t migrate to a different spot on this world, when the time came, but reboarded our ships and set off, as fast and as far as we could go, to another world? Someplace far away from our own? Someplace we could build into a great clan again before others of the People showed up to try to wrest it from us?”
Zira thought about that for a moment, staring also at the winking stars. It was surely a tempting thought. But…
“We are too few to form a globe, Guano. Even if we formed something smaller — a mini-globe — our speed would be so reduced we would be in space for decades, subjective. By the time we arrived to conquer a new world the odds are good we would find the People there ahead of us, rendering blades all sharpened and waiting, when we popped out of hyperspace. That, or they would be so far ahead of us we would find nothing but wasted, radioactive worlds that had already plunged into orna’adar and been abandoned.”
Shivering, Guanamarioch remembered the distant mushroom clouds rising above the soil of his birthworld.
“It was just a thought,” he admitted. “The clans around us press us at our borders even now. It would be something wonderful, I thought, if we could somehow escape from that.”
“It would, Guano, if it were possible. Sadly, it is not.”
The Kenstain grew quiet for a moment, his one remaining arm reaching back and rifling the saddle bags that were his constant companion. Tinkling sounds came from the bag, reminiscent of the water as it dropped to splash onto rocks a few hundred meters downstream.
“I found a supply of these, in a threshkreen building the normals have not yet demolished,” the Kenstain said, handing over a cylindrical clear container holding an equally clear fluid. “Try it. It is rather good, almost good enough to justify keeping some threshkreen around to keep making it. The seal twists off easily. Just be careful how much strength you use; the material turns very sharp when it breaks.”
Gingerly, Guanamarioch took the bottle from Ziramoth’s offering claw. “AS, what does the label say?”
The artificial voice answered, “It says ‘Rum,’ lord. I believe that is an intoxicant the local thresh are fond of. The label also indicates that this container holds a very powerful version of the intoxicant.”
“Very powerful, indeed, Guano. I’d go easy at first,” Ziramoth added.
Still holding the rum in one claw, the God King twisted the cap off and raised the bottle to his lips. His crest dropped as his muzzle raised. With an audible sound — glug, glug, glug — Guano poured the stuff in and —
“Holy Demon Shit!”
Chapter 24
Iced rum barely diluted by lime juice swirled in the glass the inspector held contemplatively in his right hand.
The inspector didn’t have Daisy’s and Sally’s instant access to the broader Net. He didn’t have the chain of command of the armed forces at his fingertips. He did, however, have a policeman’s feel, and his fingertips were fairly shrieking that this purge — there was no other word for it — had gone way past upholding the law of the land, or even of the Earth, and gone all the way over into tossing that land over to the enemy.
He sat now, at his dining room table, face staring down towards the glass of mixed ice and rum and mixing worry with regret in roughly equal measure.
The lady of the house, olive-skinned, short and a little plump, walked up beside him and placed her hand on her husband’s shoulder. She said nothing, but the hand said everything: Whatever you decide, I will support you.