Analog SFF, June 2008

by Dell Magazine Authors

  Wait a minute, she thought, bolting to upright attention. Why would the rip in the overall extend from the upper breast to the opposite hip? A simple swipe across the throat would have been much more efficient. Furthermore, a downward slash by an erect Sith would only go half the distance of neck to groin.

  “Maybe it was a very short Sith,” Roxanne mused. The slash had to come after, while the body was on the ground. Maybe the murderer tried to open the coverall up so he could search the body? But why was the blood only around the gash? Something was wrong with that picture.

  Could the attack have been staged? Was the demise of Boone a red herring? She paused. It was awfully convenient that they cremated his body. More interesting was that the only possessions she was shown were those that plainly identified the human victim.

  And that, Roxanne thought, was very interesting indeed.

  * * * *

  “Taking a break from negotiations?” hissed the Sith who matched steps with Sam as they passed through the shuttle gates. This one wore red lipstick and rouged his cheeks in bright blue. Sam didn't think the colors did anything to improve his appearance. “Raptor,” the Sith introduced himself in sibilant Glax. He didn't appear to be one of the Sith negotiating crew.

  Sam started sweating. “Sam Boone,” he answered curtly. It was quite unlike a Sith to start an idle conversation with an alien. “Yes, just taking a few days off to see the sights,” Sam replied. “You know, visit the monuments, see the vistas, hang out with the locals—the usual tourist stuff.” He hoped the Arasoes had monuments, vistas, and places to hang out.

  The object Hopper had put in the bottom of his bag felt as if it weighed a thousand tons. He was certain that anyone with an ounce of intelligence could see its contour through the thin fabric despite the wrappings he'd placed about it.

  He swore that Raptor was giving the bag an intense glance as Sam hoisted it onto his shoulder. “Do you need some help with that?” Raptor asked as he reached one clawed hand toward the bag.

  “No, not at all.” Sam turned to keep the bag away from the reaching hand. He tried not to wince as the strap cut into his shoulder. “Well, I'd really like to continue our little chat but I've got to get to my seat, stow the bag and all that. The shuttle won't wait. See you.” He knew he was babbling but if he stopped talking he'd probably start gibbering in fear. Not that it would make a difference in the output.

  “May the blood of your foes be thinned with tears,” the Sith replied cheerily. “Perhaps we may pray together on Araso.” Sam wondered if he had meant “prey” or “pray.” Of course, with the Sith, they could be the same word.

  When Sam turned from stowing his bag he noticed that Raptor had taken a seat right across the aisle. The Sith's attention seemed to be fastened on the bag, a bag which Sam was worried might suddenly turn transparent to reveal everything to the deadly alien's sharp eyes. But then, perhaps that was simply Sam's imagination run riot. There was no way the Sith could know what Sam and Hopper were doing—was there?

  Sam tried to stay calm, but his mind kept returning to the bag and what might happen it should suddenly open before he was safely on Araso. Oh lord, it hadn't been his imagination. That Sith was staring at him with a malicious gleam in his eye.

  Sam was glad he'd had a clean pair of pants in the bag. He was certainly going to need them.

  The shuttle ride was mercifully brief and ended with tremendous jarring that would have made most of Earth's air crashes seem perfect landings. Thankfully everyone was restrained in their harnesses, unlike most of their recent meals. Sam marveled at the variety of aromas, colors, and textures that splattered the forward wall of the cabin.

  A shaken Sam wobbled, bag in hand, through the hatch and down to an open field dominated by a single stone building.

  Raptor was waiting for him at the base of the ramp. “Come,” he said. “I want show you something very interesting.” He clapped an arm across Sam's shoulder, which placed his claw's edge a bare centimeter away from Sam's jugular.

  “Whatever you say,” Sam squeaked, careful not to nod his head. He let the Sith lead him over a hill and away from the lone building and its relative safety.

  Sam knew he was breathing his last when Raptor offered to take him on a little hike. And when he saw the other two Sith waiting for him he was certain that his imminent death was going to be both messy and lingering.

  “Your bag,” Raptor said. Sam obligingly dropped the bag at his feet. The Sith withdrew his arm immediately. “Do not try to run,” he warned as he kicked the bag toward one the waiting pair. “I believe there is something interesting in the bag. He certainly doesn't have it on his person.”

  “Yes,” the other Sith said. “We must let Bowelsplitter know that his is not the only egg in the clutch. Others have more right than he who engineered Ripgut's demise. We need to put a claw in that damned orthodox bastard.”

  Sam didn't take his eye off the Sith. How far was he from the building and safety? Could he get to the ridge and in plain sight of witnesses before he got eviscerated by the trio? He estimated the odds against that happening at twenty billion to none.

  The Sith were about as gentle with his bag as a New York customs agent. In seconds all of Sam's possessions were scattered about the landscape; his spare coverall and his last pair of tweety-bird briefs. His Stygian toothbrush landed near his feet.

  “This is not what you promised,” the kneeling Sith screamed as he held up a heavy, reeking mass of vegetation, a souvenir from one of Sam's previous assignments. For a moment Sam was hopeful that they would take the smelly thing off his hands

  Raptor threw it down and turned on Sam. “You have tricked me,” he hissed. “I will make you pay for such deception.” With a scream he launched himself at Sam, his arm raised for the deadly downward slash.

  Sam awaited the assault without flinching. Actually he was frozen solid with fear; every muscle had clenched in anticipation of the strike. He barely had time to close his eyes before he felt a hard blow that sent him spinning into darkness. His last thought was of Earth and all the lovely young women he'd never met.

  * * * *

  For the past two days Roxanne had been trying to figure out some way she could find the truth behind the evidence that Sam Boone was dead. Getting an independent analysis of the ashes might or might not prove something. Would the ashes of a Sith or an Araso differ markedly from a human's? She had no guarantee that they would, so there had to be another way.

  Now, who stands to gain by possessing the Finger, she wondered as she pursued this line of thought. If she could discover who was keeping the Finger out of sight, she'd probably know what was really going on. Roxanne reached out for a beer to help her think about that strategy.

  “I did not pay for you to pleasure yourself.” The sharp tip of Flenser's claw struck the table between her thumb and extended fingers just before they closed on the handle of the mug.

  Roxanne didn't twitch. “Well, I didn't expect you to come down to check on my progress,” she said as calmly as she could under the circumstances.

  “I expect results forthwith,” the Sith hissed with menace, she thought; but then, everything the Sith said sounded menacing. “The time draws near for a reckoning and we must have the Finger returned to us.”

  “I'm following a couple of leads,” Roxanne said. “We think we know where your Shambone has gotten himself. Give me a few more weeks and I'll have this all wrapped up for you.”

  The Sith rested its claw against Roxanne's throat. “Do not lie to me. I know that you examined the other human's remains and did not find the Finger. That is, unless you now have it in your possession?” His hand pulled her chin upwards to stare into his tinged eyes—a delicate orchid shade, she noticed.

  “No, no. I haven't seen it. All I found were the normal things a man might carry—nothing remotely Sith.”

  The claw lingered at her throat a moment more and then snapped away, the claw's tip nipping her earlobe. “I will either have the
Finger returned or extract payment from another human—of whom you seem to be the sole representative.”

  “Why are you so anxious to get this thing back?” Roxanne asked. “What's the urgency?”

  “Fool. Soon our missionaries will arrive. I would have this in my possession so that I might rightfully direct them to bring the light of the Universal Great Egg to this benighted planet.”

  “What happens if you don't have it?”

  “You will not be concerned with that,” Flenser snapped angrily. “I assure you that you will be well beyond caring about such matters if that occurs.”

  The downward slash of the claw was so quick that had she blinked she would have missed it. She looked down at her blouse. “Damn, what is this thing you guys have with my buttons?” But the Sith didn't hear. It was already walking away.

  Once her heart stopped pounding she realized how strange it was to see Flenser here. It strained credibility that he would do so only to urge her to increased productivity.

  Maybe he had a thing for blondes with big boobs, Roxanne thought as she tried to fasten the loose halves of her blouse. She finally gave up—there wasn't anyone around to care anyhow.

  Half a beer later a very disturbed Araso wearing a blue smock appeared beside her. “Didn't we tell you to stay in the bunker? Come, you must go back before the Sith sees you!” She was impressed. Sam's translator was really good at the local language.

  “You're a little late for that, friend,” she replied, but the Araso lifted her over its shoulder and sped from the bar. As they raced across the plain the little blue creature was tootling up an excited storm about games and playing and preparations, most of which was completely incomprehensible to Roxanne, as it pulled her along.

  “...urgent that you be safe. Preparations must be made for...” The Araso said something about a million Sith warriors coming soon. Roxanne shuddered at the thought of what that many armed Sith could do to the gentle beings of Safehold.

  Instead of the panic she was certain a similar crowd of humans would be exhibiting when they learned of such impending doom, the Arasoes appeared remarkably calm, nor did their melodious voices sound panicked. The scene was quite orderly, as if prospective invasions were a matter of routine.

  Try as she might, she could not get the small Araso to release her. Who would have thought these little creatures could be so strong?

  They made several confusing twists and turns, each one taking them deeper into the town. None of the Arasoes they passed seemed to think her presence anything out of the ordinary.

  At last they came to a building with a thick, barricaded door. They hit the door at full speed, slamming the door against the wall.

  “You were supposed to keep him here,” her escort screamed at the top of his lungs. “Why, if I hadn't found it in a bar...!” He dropped her in surprise. “Why are there TWO of them?”

  Roxanne stared in wonder at the two individuals in the room. It wasn't the other Araso that surprised her, but the individual calmly sitting at the table. The other presence in the room, the one both Arasoes were trying to hide with their bodies—a man caught in the middle of cracking one of those hard Safehold nuts.

  He was staring at her with his mouth hanging open.

  “Sam Boone?” she croaked in amazement.

  * * * *

  The first thing that Sam saw when he recovered consciousness was a Raptor's pink unwavering eye staring into his own from a few centimeters away. Seconds later Sam noticed that the reason for their unwavering stare was the Sith's being unquestionably dead. Its crushed skull was still oozing bilious fluid onto the ground near Sam's cheek. Were they both dead? Lord, he'd hate to think he'd have to go through eternity staring at this ugly sight.

  Then he became aware of sounds of someone, or something, moving about. Sounds! That meant he wasn't dead, unlike the Sith.

  “Good, you are awake.” Sam blinked at the group of Arasoes standing over him. Scattered about were his former captors, all quite indisposed to life from various and summary traumas visited upon their heads and bodies. It looked as if some giant hand had ripped the three into a septet. Gruesome.

  “What?” Sam began as he rose from the ground and then realized that he was quite naked. Nearby lay his coverall, ripped and splattered with blood. He quickly ran his hands up and down his body to check for any mortal wounds that might have otherwise gone unnoticed. That much gore meant something terrible had happened.

  “I am sorry I hit you so hard,” Burrowingtoheaven said, “but I had to knock you out of the way. It was a very near thing.”

  “Wha...?” Sam began, trying to absorb too much data in too little time.

  “We have no time to talk. Come with us. We must get you out of the way as soon as possible.”

  Burrowing carried Sam to speed their passage. Sam was impressed since he was nearly twice the size of the creature. Perhaps he had underestimated them after all.

  In the distance there was the sound of heavy equipment being moved. “Soon, soon. Oh, it will be so lovely to use the old tools again. It's been years since we played these games, you know.” Burrowing sounded positively gleeful.

  Old tools? Games? Did the Arasoes have some sort of defense they were going to use against the Sith? He could imagine what pitiful sort of weapons they might have—spears and arrows, he imagined, perhaps even something as advanced as a trebuchet. It mattered little: It was going to be a slaughter, just as he had feared.

  Burrowing didn't seem to realize the danger they all faced. In fact, he was humming and tootling as the sounds continued. “Won't be long before we're ready.” He glanced aside and, tootling in a conspiratorial whisper, said, “They won't let us use them except for defense, you know.”

  “They?”

  Burrowing shrugged. “The Hegemony. Ever since we wiped out those pesky Turnshekkies a few years ago we've been under Court orders to restrain ourselves except for defense. This will be a great opportunity for the kids to have some fun.”

  Fun? Kids? Didn't anyone on this damned planet realize just how nasty the Sith missionaries were going to be? Whatever defenses these peaceful creatures could muster would hardly...

  A thunderous boom reverberated through the heavens. “Oh, good, they're practicing with the mass drivers.” Burrowing skipped in obvious joy. “That means that the automated launchers are ready as well. Good, now all we have to do is activate the fleet and we'll be all ready for them. I do hope these Sith prove more entertainment than the Turnshekkies. I mean, all we did was knock out three of their planets and all the fight went out of them.”

  “They surrendered?” Sam asked.

  Burrowing laughed in E minor. “Heavens, no. We just got rid of those who were left. No sense letting them have another round with us, right?”

  Suddenly Sam was very afraid of these “gentle” Arasoes. Now he understood why they refused to negotiate with the Sith and why they were so helpful in hiding him and the Finger. They wanted to be sure he wouldn't screw up their warlike plans. “You want the Sith to attack!”

  Burrowing wiggled its little tail. “Of course. We'd be fools to pass up an opportunity like this.”

  It was hard to think of something like a nuclear attack or battling waves of Sith warriors as recreation, but considering the dismissive way most of the Galactics treated xenocide, Sam couldn't dismiss it as impossible. Burrowing did say they'd wiped out a race or two themselves, hadn't he?

  Maybe this was what he was supposed to prevent. Although, now that he thought about it, his agent hadn't been exactly clear as to who had engaged him. Whoever it was must have been interested in keeping the war from escalating into a pogrom. Perhaps he had misunderstood his agent's instructions and it wasn't the Sith he was sent to protect!

  Unless he did something, and soon, he'd probably have a seat right on the game's fifty-yard line.

  * * * *

  The rumbling was barely noticeable at first, a trembling of the floor that jiggled the water in the dish on
the table. None of the Arasoes seemed to notice, so Sam passed it off as a minor tremor, a small Araso-quake of no lasting import.

  The second shock was more intense and brought his bodyguard to his feet. Something strange was definitely afoot. “What is it?” Sam asked.

  “The old vaults open with considerable difficulty,” Skippingalonggracefully answered after considering the sound for a moment. “I think that...” Whatever he thought was overcome by events as the door slammed open and a hefty Araso jumped inside screaming something about a bar and dragging a...

  Sam could scarcely believe his eyes as the woman stood and straightened her clothing, gathering the flopping halves of her open blouse together as she stared in open-eyed amazement directly at him.

  She had to be the loveliest thing he had ever seen, and blonde! All thoughts of missionaries, of his captors, of the certain death of every unconverted soul on Araso faded into insignificance as he drank in her features, her wonderful, perfect, human features.

  “Are you going to say something or are you just going to sit there with your mouth open?” Roxanne said as she tied her blouse into a knot at her midriff.

  “Yes,” Sam said quietly and sadly as Roxanne covered two of her most prominent features.

  “Yes what?” Roxanne asked.

  “Whatever you want,” Sam replied, wondering for a moment if the Swedish embassy had sent this vision of feminine pulchritude to him.

  Roxanne scowled. “Wonderful, forty jillion light years from home and I have to run into a jerk with his brains in his pants,’ she spat out. “Hello, Sam. We are in deep shit and, just in case you didn't know it, there's going to be a couple of thousand ships landing on the planet shortly and they're all loaded with really pissed-off Sith. And, just in case that isn't bad enough, unless you know something I don't, there's a Sith that would like nothing better than to turn us both into human sashimi!”

  “We're safe here where the Sith can't find us,” Sam replied soothingly. “Matter of fact, why don't we make ourselves comfortable for a few days and talk about our options?” Sam scooted aside to make room for Roxanne beside him on the bench.