“I was happy at home before I was taken by the M’zullians,” said a small female next to Mahzi.
“Chanshu, do you have to toil in a field, or look after smelly herd beasts, or do you sit around all day in beautiful surroundings waiting on your Lord’s pleasure? I know which I would prefer,” said Resho sharply. “Now enough talk of matters that don’t concern us. Back to your sewing. Nayrou, it’s your turn to recite the rules of the harem. Begin.”
Mahzi filtered out the sound of Nayrou’s voice. She was thinking of what Nayash had talked to her about the night before—since he knew she could read, he made sure she got the copy of the day’s newspaper after he was done with it. When he came to visit her, they would sit and discuss the articles she’d read. He was very different from these other males and seemed to take pride in how much she understood of what she read, of the politics, as he called it, behind the stories. These females had husbands who valued only their looks and passive behavior. She wished she could get them to see that this wasn’t the way things should be, that they could be equals of the males, but without the male in their lives changing their attitudes, what was the point in making the other females unhappy trying to get freedoms they could never have?
“Mahzi, we have dances we learn here in the harem that are centuries old called fan dances. Perhaps Resho would help me teach you one of the simple ones,” said Neeshou.
“Fan dances? With real fans?”
“Yes. Resho, can I teach her one?”
“If she makes some headway with her embroidery today, certainly,” said Resho.
“You will like the dances,” whispered Neeshou. “They have special meaning for our people. You’ll see why as you learn them.”
Capital city, early hours of the morning Zhal-Ghyakulla 17th (June)
Dressed in dark gray overalls, their lower faces obscured by masks, Kusac, Cheelar, M’yikku, and Maalash kept to the deep shadows at the side of the buildings as they made their way carefully to the warehouse district where the brothel they planned to hit that night was situated. They’d chosen that night because no one would be expecting another raid from the Zsadhi so close to the last one. Their target this time was one designed to hit at the ordinary worker. Causing damage to the main brothel would hit them hard because they had to work hard to earn the right to visit the drones that were employed there. It was sure to cause an outcry among the workers.
Their target building was one of the smaller warehouses that had been made over to be part club and part cheap hotel where the males who earned enough credits would be granted a few hours with one of the drones. Though sterile, the drones were not genderless and customers could choose male or female as their preference demanded and availability allowed. At this time, the facility was closed for the night.
Their plan was to get into the building and plant some explosives around the doorway and by the back exit, scrawl the Zsadhi sword on a main wall, drop some leaflets, and leave, setting off the charges as they went. They intended to cause enough damage to render the place unusable, but not enough to risk the lives of those inside.
Streetlamps were few and far between in this area of the city. Lights were reserved for the large compounds where transport vehicles unloaded their cargo. Their vehicle parked half a mile away in one of the last residential areas, their route took them through streets lined with the smaller warehouses on the edges of the large industrial parks.
As one of them ran forward to scout the area ahead, the others hung back in the deepest shadows—in back alleys, behind dumpsters, whatever cover they could find. At a signal from the forward man, the others would join him, one at a time. They were close now, only a chain-link fence between them and the building. Cheelar took the cutters out of his backpack and clipped a gap through which they could crawl into the compound. Once inside, they dashed again for the deep shadows at the side of the building. All the lights were off as expected. They crouched down, listening for any sounds.
A light wind whistled across the yard, blowing a scrap of paper about. Overhead, behind a covering of clouds, a sliver of moon shone dimly. All was still and quiet.
Kusac made the hand sign that told Cheelar to get the door. Moments later, keeping low, they were slipping inside to either side of the door, waiting for their eyes to adapt to the deeper darkness within. Once they could see again, Kusac signaled to M’yikku to plant the charges on the doorframe while he ventured farther into the room.
A dim shaft of light from a streetlamp picked out the easy chairs and sofas that lined the room. In the center were groups of the same chairs back-to-back, forming seating islands, each with a low table in front of them.
Freezing suddenly, Kusac held up his hand in the universal Halt signal. He’d seen a shape, a lump on one of the chairs that was out of character with the others. Dropping lower to conceal his body profile more, he froze, waiting for a full two minutes. What was it? A cushion on the chair? A pet animal? Though rare, he had seen some canine-like pets about the Court; or was it a person, curled up in the chair?
Silently, Kusac crept forward, loosening his knife in its scabbard, then pulling it free. Inwardly, he cursed his Valtegan shape. Had he been in his natural Sholan form, he’d have been able to smell the subtleties of its scent and tell what it was. He was level with the first of the central chairs now. Another step and the form grunted and moved. He froze, breathing quietly, trying to get a handle on the scent, any scent. It moved again, lifting an elongated head, sniffing the air loudly.
Animal! Kusac flung himself on it and found himself fighting for his life as the snarling beast tried to fasten its jaws around any part of him it could reach. He hissed in pain as the teeth grated across his right forearm. M’yikku joined him, using the butt of his gun to repeatedly beat the creature on the head while it alternately snapped at Kusac’s and M’yikku’s arms.
The snarls and occasional yelps of pain it was producing sounded like clarion calls loud enough to wake the dead to them. Finally, Kusac got a grip on its head and thrust his knife deep up under the jaw. The creature stiffened briefly, then with a final death thrash, fell limp to the seat of the chair. Hot blood gushed down the knife and over Kusac’s hand as he pulled his blade out, wiping it on the soft-scaled skin of the beast.
“Get moving,” he hissed, nursing his left arm. “M’yikku, you paint the sword. The damned animal bit me several times.”
Upstairs, they could hear the floor creaking as someone got out of bed and began to walk across the floor.
Cheelar ran to plant the rear door charge as M’yikku pulled the can of spray paint out of the pocket of Kusac’s backpack, then headed over to the nearest wall. Climbing up on one of the chairs, he began drawing the Zsadhi sword on the wall between a tall mirror and an erotic painting. Maalash cast a handful of Zsadhi posters into the air, letting them flutter down to the ground.
While they did that, Kusac headed back toward the front door, digging in his pack for a scarf and began wrapping it crudely round his left forearm. The last thing he needed to do was leave a blood trail behind him for the authorities to follow.
Moments later, the others met at the front door, and as silently as they had entered, they left. A quick sprint across the yard and they were out through the gap in the chain-link fence. From there, they hurriedly retraced their steps until they were almost out of line of sight, That was when Kusac triggered the detonator. The double explosion lit up the darkened enclosure with a satisfying low crump of sound and display of bright orange flames. Loud shouts and the ringing of the fire alarms could be heard in the distance.
“Let’s get out of here,” said Kusac quietly as they headed round the corner. Again keeping to the darkest shadows, they reached the area where they’d parked their vehicle among several others just like it at the side of a residential area. Once in the car, while the rest stripped off the gray coveralls and pulled on their normal uniforms, Kusac scra
mbled out of his coveralls and began wiping the blood off his forearms with it. The bite marks were still weeping blood, and he dabbed futilely at them with the scarf before tying it on again.
The distant sounds of sirens were coming closer now, and he could feel the night around them coming alive as people slowly responded to the noise and explosion of fire.
“Ready?” Cheelar asked, and getting a chorus of “ayes,” he started up the engine and headed out of their parking place.
“Let me see your arm, Captain,” said M’yikku from beside him. “Maalash, get the first aid kit.” Using his knife, he swiftly sliced through the scarf, exposing the oozing bloody gashes that crisscrossed Kusac’s forearm.
With fire engines and the military police all converging on the brothel, a vehicle going in the opposite direction was going to be noticed. Slowly, with the headlights off, Cheelar inched the car down the road, stopping abruptly as a vehicle whizzed past ahead of them at the crossroad.
“Hold his coveralls under his arm while I pour this antiseptic over it,” ordered M’yikku.
“Shit, that’s worse than the damned bite!” exclaimed Kusac, with a loud hiss of pain. trying to pull his arm back.
“We got to get it clean right away, or it could go septic. That was a canine equivalent of a norrta, all teeth and attitude, a guard animal. Didn’t expect them to have one of those.”
The vehicle edged forward again till at last they were at the cross street they needed. Cheelar waited a moment with the window open, listening for the sounds of any other vehicles, then he turned into the crossing and headed down the road and out of the city.
“I really hate these missions,” said M’yikku with feeling as he bound Kusac’s arm up firmly with the bandage in the kit. “They twist my guts up into huge knots until we’re safe home.”
“I think it gets us all the same,” said Kusac, flexing his arm and nodding his thanks before getting himself back into his uniform. “We’ve got some breathing space now for a few weeks at least. It’ll be down to the other units to do the next few hits.”
“Is this actually having a real effect on the people?” asked Cheelar. “We’re so close to it that it’s difficult to tell.”
“Oh, yes,” said Maalash. “If the officer caste is twitchy in the Palace, and you know they are, then you can believe the worker caste is even worse. You’ve been hitting their chapels, their brewery, and now their brothel. They are going to be so mad at their superiors for not protecting their interests that you’re going to start seeing challenges happening very soon.”
“How will they happen?” asked M’yikku.
“They’ll just march up to their superior and challenge him to a duel,” said Maalash. “Don’t they do it that way for you officers?”
“Not exactly,” said Kusac. “The physical challenge no longer happens, it’s more of a calling the person to account in front of other officers or their superiors. They then investigate the officer and, if need be, replace him with the best person for the job.”
“Huh, I think our way is better. You get a new person immediately if you win.”
“Both ways are pretty brutal,” said Cheelar, flicking on the headlights as they cleared the last of the city streets and entered the countryside.
“I seriously suggest you have a bad hunting accident on the estate tomorrow to explain your injury before we go back to the Palace,” said M’yikku, helping him ease into his jacket and button it up.
“Good thought,” said Kusac, flexing his arm and clenching his fingers one more time and wincing at the pain. “Feels better. Nice job with the field dressing, M’yikku, thanks. We’re definitely going to have to burn that coverall.”
“If we stop about a mile from the estate gate and pull into the side there, I can run into the woods and deal with it,” said M’yikku.
M’zull, Palace, Council meeting, Zhal-Ghyakulla 18th (June)
“This amount of civil unrest should be impossible, Majesty,” said General Nazhol. “I have units going door-to-door in the city, looking for anyone that even resembles an insurgent. Any people not at work who should be are being rounded up, the ringleaders taken into custody, and the rest escorted back to work.”
“Don’t take them all into custody. Shoot half and leave their bodies prominently exposed as a warning to the others!” snapped K’hedduk. “They are breaking the laws, they are acting in a way that should be impossible! Workers cannot rebel!”
“Tell them that,” countered Inquisitor Ziosh. “Killing our workforce isn’t the answer, nor is causing more damage among them. You should have anticipated this. The trend in the raids was there for all to see . . .”
“If it was so obvious, Ziosh, why did you fail to spot it? Where is your army of spies when we actually need them? Or you, Generals!” demanded K’hedduk, thumping his fist on the table. “Last I looked, we were all on the same side, not trying to outdo each other! If we don’t work together, we won’t find this damned Zsadhi!”
“What if there isn’t one Zsadhi,” said Kusac. “What if it’s several people?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” snapped General Nazhol. “Of course it’s only one person! How could it be more than one? These workers are workers for a reason; they aren’t the brightest ones in the unit!”
“They don’t have to be, but the ones who are leading the raids, planting the Zsadhi information, do. I say they aren’t worker caste,” said Kusac. “I say they’re a higher caste. Look at the raids. Carried out with precision, they have to be the work of the military.”
“He’s right,” said K’hedduk. “The raids can be done by a team of soldiers, but their leader or leaders have to be a higher level, they have to be officer caste! I don’t know why we didn’t see it before!”
“Well, that throws your spy theory out the window,” snapped General Geddash.
“Not entirely,” said Kusac. “There could still be one person in overall charge, and that person could still be the spy.”
“Why does it take my newest General to point out clues you should all have noticed? Dammit, you’re the tacticians, so you keep telling me, yet you can’t analyze this fake Zsadhi’s tactics!” hissed K’hedduk.
“This isn’t our lack, Majesty! You’re the one who . . .” began General Lezhu.
“And what have I had you doing for weeks?” interrupted K’hedduk. “Looking for this spy, looking for those responsible for these raids! You’re the military advisers, so advise me and let’s see if you can come up with a plan to stop him, because so far, you’ve had no suggestions, no insights, nothing! Get out of here, all of you, and come up with some new ideas for the meeting the day after tomorrow, or by all that’s holy I will start looking for younger males who can give me solutions!”
K’hedduk waited for the room to empty before venting his wrath. “They blame me! Me, Zerdish! How dare they! They are the advisers and not a scrap of useful advice have I had in weeks from them except for ‘There is no spy, you waste our resources looking for shadows,’ and ‘Zsadhi is a folk legend, not real,’ and still the raids continue!”
“There’s some merit in the possibility that more than one person is carrying out these raids,” said Zerdish. “It would explain why it’s proving difficult to find a pattern for them, and a base of operations. If we triangulate the raid sites, we get nothing.”
“As soon as you have more people involved, the chances of someone letting slip they are a member of the units causing the raids goes up. Nayash is right; it has to be one or more of the officer caste in charge. From the rate at which the Generals are digging in their heels and not cooperating with me or each other, I’m sure at least one of them is involved.”
“It’s possible, Majesty.”
“Possible be damned, probable more likely. I cannot rule effectively when I have to deal with a group of cast-off ancient Generals inherited from my spineless br
other! I need people of my own choosing, of a like mind to me, people of action, not ancients stuck in their ways! It’s time I harvested them to make way for new blood, Zerdish. Time I got people like Nayash onto this, finding out who’s not only loyal to me but useful as well.”
“Shall I send for Nayash?”
“No, not yet. They will have gone to rumble and hiss their venom to each other. Nayash knows to listen well to what he can. Let him gather some more information. We’ll talk to him this afternoon, Zerdish,” said K’hedduk, his good humor restored as he got to his feet.
Later that afternoon, Emperor’s office
“How did the Generals’ meeting proceed?” asked K’hedduk as a servant poured maush for Kusac.
“It was a heated discussion as usual, your Majesty,” said Kusac. “I know it would have been more moderate had a little more time passed between the Council meeting and theirs.”
“Moderate? How moderate?”
“It’s easy to blame the person in charge, but a leader is only as good as his intelligence. Since you are getting no intel from them . . .” He left the rest unsaid.
“I am dependent on them, as you say. Who are the most vociferous in condemning me?” he demanded.
“Majesty, I really couldn’t say. Tempers were running hot—they were accusing each other of not being candid with information for you, of not making enough effort to track down this Zsadhi and his insurgents. It would be wrong of me on a few minutes of such unguarded conversation to point the finger at, for instance, General Geddash, for feeling since his command is the First Fleet he has no need to check out his people and his staff. Or to praise General Lezhu for taking a most firm line with his people by setting a watch on all his factories and warehouses and escorting his people to and from their communal residences. A move I intend to follow today, I should add.”
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