Diekela shook her head, clearly not agreeing with the N’mercan’s position. Quasan Alla merely stared at the table.
Randalyn lifted her eyes toward the Leader Elect. The blue iciness of her stare caused him to take a deep breath and whisper a Peace prayer before speaking.
“I concur that something must be done,” he spoke quietly. He paused. Briefly closed his eyes. “But before we decide, I propose we speak with the scientist who is heading up this challenge. If we are to proceed with this experiment, we should know what it entails. He should speak before the entire Council.”
Several of the others quickly agreed and a quick vote was cast to seal the proposal. By a vote of 5 to 1, it was agreed the scientist would be brought before them to describe his work, and to answer the questions of the Council.
At the conclusion of the ballot, Randalyn surprised them once more.
“If it pleases the Council, I have asked Senior Scientist Tane Rolan to accompany me on this session trip. He is waiting in my readiness chamber.”
Looks were cast around the table and more than one head shook at the N’mercan’s statement. Esteval did not comment on Randalyn’s presumptuousness in assuming that the scientist might be called. Instead, he suggested to the rest of the council that they grant entry to the scientist and complete the business in front of them now instead of at a future date. Gaining majority approval, Esteval instructed Randalyn to request the scientist’s presence.
A few moments later, the N’mercan Leader returned with a smallish man dressed in the standard, blue-gray tunic of a Senior Scientist. The tunic was ill-fitting and baggy, but clean. At just over five feet, and carrying a mere 130 pounds, the thin-framed scientist did not make an intimidating entrance. He was young -- far younger than any of them might have guessed for a Senior Scientist. Most scientists never achieved the highest rank of their profession, and the few who did were typically well into their sixties before attaining the post. The man entering the room was no older than thirty standard years and that alone attested to his considerable abilities.
But it was not the scientist’s age that made the Leaders sit up and reassess the man as much as it was his eyes. When he looked at the Leaders seated around the table, meeting each one’s gaze directly and without apology, Esteval was touched with an undeniable sense of power, knowledge and strength.
Beneath the secondary lids, Tane Rolan’s blue-gray eyes matched his tunic. And they shined brightly, with a heavy mixture of intelligence and fierce determination. The Leader Elect sensed other, more troubling emotions bubbling beneath the senior scientist’s calm exterior and wondered if this servant of the people and of science was not wholly at Peace. The intelligence and determination in the scientist’s gaze appeared bound by a quietly restrained anger and, for the first time since the Minith had come to Earth, the Leader Elect felt a glimmer of hope.
The scientist approached the raised platform reserved for guests to the Council and stepped onto it with quiet confidence. He turned toward the Leaders and waited. Unlike most visitors who stepped upon the platform, he did not appear nervous or anxious in the presence of Council.
“Good day, Senior Scientist Rolan,” the Leader Elect greeted the young man. “Do you understand why you have been requested to speak with us today?”
“Yes, Honorable Member Esteval,” the scientist replied in Earth Standard speech. There was no trace of Culture accent in the words. “You wish to hear about our recent experiments.”
“Yes, Senior Scientist. We would like to know more about your research and your theories.” Esteval waved a hand toward Randalyn.
“Your Culture Leader has briefly explained your work, but we would like to hear from you. Are you prepared to address the Council?”
“I am, sir.”
“Very well. Please begin.”
* * *
Tane Rolan paced anxiously outside the Council’s Chamber.
His impatience was a curse as well as a blessing and he tolerated the wait as well as he could. As a child, his inability to wait for others was well known among the adults and teachers in his life. Unfortunately for Tane, anyone who expressed emotions that conflicted with the norms of “patience” and “peace” were singled out as possibly being a Violent and he was no exception. It made for an awfully lonely childhood and one where he was constantly monitored and “re-counseled” on a regular basis.
As an adult, his inability to be patient and wait for others to take charge often helped him to reach his goals. As a junior scientist he pushed for results in his work and, where others may have held back, he charged forward.
At first, he had been labeled a scientific apostate, lucky in areas where other, older scientists had failed; but as his string of successes grew, so did his reputation as a skilled scientist. As a result of his efforts, incredible discoveries were made in the areas of human engineering, bio-genetics and cloning. Science that had been stagnant for centuries was reinvigorated and raced quickly ahead. Tane’s advances were so extraordinary that he was soon recognized by those in the scientific community, reluctantly or otherwise, as a genius on par with da Vinci, Einstein, and Candleman. He was awarded the rank of Senior Scientist at the age of twenty-seven, making him the youngest, by more than two decades, to ever achieve the rank.
Now, at twenty-nine, Tane was once again waiting for others to agree with him. To grant an approval of a decision that he had already made. A decision that he planned to carry out regardless of what the Council decreed.
He was considering how he would continue his work without the Council’s knowledge when the Chamber door opened and he was waved back inside.
“Senior Scientist Rolan,” Leader Elect Esteval began. “You will return to your work. This Council, through your Culture Representative, will monitor your experiments and provide any assistance that you may require. We wish you Peace, and hope that your efforts deliver us from the Minith.”
It’s about time, Rolan thought.
Once again, his impatience had been rewarded.
CHAPTER TWO
As a space-faring race, the Minith would be considered infants by many worlds in the universe. Less than three hundred Earth years had passed since their first interstellar flight had taken place.
As a race of thugs and thieves, however, the Minith were far from infants. Those particular talents had been honed for millennia. First, they destroyed all competing life on their planet. Then they turned to fighting and robbing each other. Clans fought against clans, families against families, brothers against brothers. Aggression was a pleasure and cruelty was polished to an art.
Their way of life ended only with the arrival of another race to their world.
Very few Minith could tell you the name of the visitors that landed on their planet. That was of no importance. What was important was that they brought the gift of space travel. And with that gift came other planets to pillage. Other races to fight and to destroy.
Space travel united the Minith as a race for the first time in over a thousand years. They quickly spread into the stars.
* * *
Zal, the new Master Minith and his predecessor, Brun, marched from the alien carrier vehicle and into the field. They stopped after a dozen feet and scanned the human sub-farm that surrounded them.
Zal knew the laborers had observed the carrier as it approached, and finally landed, in the field. The brighter workers moved quickly away from the descending vehicle. Others were not as quick in their thinking and were within earshot of the aliens. The workers remained as silent as possible and no one looked directly at the two giants. To Zal, it appeared as though they were trying to become invisible, to disappear into the crops that they cultivated.
The two aliens were massive, both in the presence they exuded, as well as in actual size. They had nothing to fear from the flock and they stood even taller, secure in their knowledge that the human-
sheep posed no threat. The newly appointed Master smiled as he watched the weak animals. Had any of the flock had the backbone to look at him, he had no doubt they would shudder at his not-quite-human appearance.
At over eight feet in height, and weighing more than three hundred pounds, Zal towered over the tallest human in the flock. Brun, the Master that he was replacing, was slightly shorter, but still at least two feet taller than the average human.
Like humans, they possessed two arms and two legs. Their faces were faintly simian in appearance, and their heads were topped with large erect ears that made them resemble – from the neck up, at least – large man-like bats. Their bodies were hairless and covered by greenish skin of hardened leather. Each of their hands held an extra thumb. Many humans had begun calling them “Batmen”, but never when the creatures were near.
“They are a weak flock, Zal,” Brun complained. The pointed auricles of his overlarge ears, decidedly the most un-human like characteristic of their race, twitched. “They are not strong and have no courage. The only benefit of human-sheep is their docility. They do as they are told and they do not protest.”
Zal looked at the flock, disgusted at what he saw.
“They cannot even consider the prospect of violence or defense.”
“It seems unlikely that any creature, even one so weak as a human, would allow themselves to be enslaved without a struggle. Especially creatures as advanced as these seem to be, eh, Brun?”
Spoken in the low voice, Zal’s words, like those of his predecessor, went unheard by the humans in the field. The Minith were cruel and aggressive, but they were sensitive to noise and, as a result, their respect for silence and quiet was very great. Not a few humans had learned this lesson the hardest of ways – with their lives. Not long after the Minith invasion it became common knowledge among Earth’s population to be careful of making any loud noises when near the Minith. Zal knew that human mothers gathered their children when around his race. Their fear of an accidental noise that could draw the wrath of an irritable master was becoming. He saw now that the workers in the field were careful in their work and smiled. Hoes and shovels, for there were no motorized tools or equipment, were wielded quietly.
Fortunately for these sheep, the Minith presence on the planet was small. He knew that most of the humans on Earth never got within several thousand miles of his kind. No more than a hundred of the aliens were posted to Earth. Not many were needed to keep the tame humans in line and meeting their quotas. Use of destructive measures against the human farms was all it took to keep the workers in line and the quotas being met.
Other than oversee the mining production and conduct shipments to their home world, most of the Minith rarely left the monolithic Mother Ship that was the center of their domination. This was good for these humans, for on those occasions when Zal’s kind left the ship, human deaths often followed.
Unknown to the humans in the field, the recent increase in quota levied upon the Leadership Council was the reason for the Minith visit to the sub-farm today and Brun raised the subject with his brother Master.
“The quota?” Zal asked, unsure of the connection between the quota and this sub-farm.
His eyes scanned the workers and instinctively planned a defense from attack. His briefing for this assignment informed him that an attack from these creatures was unlikely. Still, he was new to the planet and it was an inconceivable concept. None of the Minith understood the concept of non-violence. Instead, they typically craved an excuse to kill some of the flock.
“Certainly, Zal. The quotas. That is how you will be judged by those who appointed you as my successor. The quotas. If you fail to meet them, you will be labeled a failure.”
“I would expect no less, honorable Brun,” Zal replied. He did not mention that their own masters had said as much before he was sent to this planet. He also did not mention that the reason he was replacing Brun was because their superiors felt the current Earth Master was too soft on the flock. “But what does that have to do with a human sub-farm? We do not care what these animals eat or grow.”
The smell of fear wafted from the workers like a drug and Zal found it difficult to listen to the other Master. Zal’s heart raced wildly and he turned away from the flock to focus on his predecessor.
“That is true, Zal. We do not care. But –,” Brun waved a hand at the humans in the field. “However, it would bode well for you to remember that these humans care about little else. If our time together leaves you with nothing else, you should remember that.”
Zal noted the rise in Brun’s voice and took inventory of his posture. The intoxicating smell of fear was having a similar affect on his companion and it served to feed his own urges. He held back though and listened to what he was being told.
“If you ever have trouble with the quotas, you have only to threaten one of these farms. The sheep will work themselves to death to protect their food source.”
“Or if there should be trouble with a rebellion by the flock?” Zal questioned eagerly, anxious to be at battle with any human-sheep who would dare to resist.
Brun expressed what passed for a Minith sneer at the thought of rebellion and replied, “That is one thing you need not fear – or desire.”
Zal swallowed the urges welling up inside him and knew that his predecessor had read his thoughts. Had probably even had similar thoughts. He rankled that the other would dare to lecture him.
“These animals are incapable of rebellion. Nay, they are incapable of violence of any kind. From birth they are trained against raising their fists or their voices and are rebuked for the mildest outbursts. At least that is what our historians and the humans tell us. As far back as they can determine, these animals have trained themselves to be sheep.”
Zal had been instructed by the very same historians, but still he refused to believe. In fact, did not want to believe. Again, the Master Minith of Earth read his thoughts.
“Ah, so you deny it to yourself.” Brun laughed and pointed out at the flock. “It was the same with me upon my appointment four cycles ago, but I quickly learned. I will show you as it was shown to me by Zorn, my own predecessor. Hand me your weapon and summon one of the animals.”
Zal smiled, handed Brun his weapon and strode eagerly into to the field. He trampled several rows of the green shoots before choosing one of the quivering humans. He selected the largest male he saw and herded him back to the waiting Brun.
Brun nodded, pleased.
“It is good that you selected a larger animal. It will make the lesson even more effective.” He switched from Minith and addressed the human male in Earth-Standard, a language all Minith learned to speak before being assigned to the planet.
“Male, what is your name?”
The man stared at the ground and rocked side to side, nervously stepping from one foot to the other. This male obviously knew it was never a good thing to be singled out by the aliens. Brun jabbed the human roughly with the end of one of the weapons.
“Speak!”
Zal looked toward the field, still alert for any sign of danger or assault. There was none. The rest of the flock continued to work the field, seemingly unaware of the two Minith and the pitiful male human.
“Ernest. My name is Ernest.” He bowed his head up and down, up and down.
“How are the fields, Ernest?” Brun waved his weapon across the large expanse of green. The other workers toiled in silence but Zal could smell the fear growing like a weed among the humans. It excited him further.
“Ah, very good, sir. The field will be ready for harvest in another month. There will be much food if the other fields do as well as this one.” The fidgeting continued and the fear poured off the male in waves.
“Very good, Ernest. But that is not why we demanded your presence. I require your assistance with a lesson in human behavior. My companion does not understand your views on violenc
e. Please explain them.”
“Uh, yes. Uh --” the man faltered and received a slap across his forehead from the weapon in the Minith’s right hand. The second weapon remained pointed at the ground.
“Explain!” the alien shouted. The human wiped a trickle of blood from his face and nodded up and down, up and down.
“Yes, yes! Okay, uh… we, uh… violence is terrible!” The man cried out and raised a bloody hand to ward off a third attack. “Violence and… uh… aggression display character flaws or, uh, insanity.”
“Do you believe this also, Ernest?” Zal questioned. Fear was the only thing he could smell and it was wonderful!
The man recoiled. “Of course! I mean, how else could we survive? Not to believe… I mean, to commit violence is… it’s criminal!”
Zal and Brun exchanged looks and Zal asked in Minith, “Are they all like this? This is no act?”
“Zal, watch the animal closely. No matter what I do or say to him or his people, he will direct no action against me.” He switched to Earth Standard and addressed the human.
“Ernest, take this weapon.” He held out Zal’s weapon to the man, who shrank away from it in horror. The dangers of the weapon, and its violent capabilities were well known to nearly all humans. The alien gun fired beams of heated energy that sliced cleanly through anything organic.
“Take it!” Brun swung the gun at the human, opening another gash in the man’s head that immediately gushed blood. The tone of his voice and the force of the blow convinced the man that refusal would not be tolerated. Slowly, Ernest reached out and took the object between two bloody fingers. He did not grip it like a weapon. Instead, he held it away from his body like a dead rodent.
“Very good, Ernest,” Brun soothed. “Now pay close attention.” When he had the man’s attention, he held out his own weapon for the other’s inspection. “This mechanism here -- when it is pushed, the weapon fires. Do you understand?”
“Uh, yes, but –“
“Quiet!” Brun yelled. The human flinched and bobbed his head. Up and down. Up and down.
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