The man they knew as Dan Mitchell slouched in his chair and pulled his ballcap down as soon as the newcomer entered the meeting room. What the hell is he doing here? he thought. I’m not supposed to have any backup!
The man in the colonel’s uniform spoke expansively on how necessary it was for mankind to re-assert its authority over this planet, and in particular, the small town of Jewel Nebraska. While his eyes scanned the room, they frequently rested on Mitchell. He tried hard to not squirm under that gaze. He’s recognized me, Mitchell thought to himself, suddenly terrified. I need to get out of here and let my handler know.
The guest speaker ended his talk, and it was agreed that there would be a fifteen minute break. Mitchell told the guy beside him that he was going to step outside for a smoke. He slowly stood, and tried very hard to not hurry to the back door. He hoped that the newcomer would be too busy answering the questions of the other conspirators to notice him leave the building. Down the rickety wooden stairs to the main level. He paused and noticed that, thankfully, there were no footsteps following him. He weaved his way through the shelving units that held the construction supplies that the warehouse stored. Only 20 more seconds and he’d be out the building and able to start running.
The emergency exit door was less than 100 feet to his right. Before he could turn to finish his escape, he heard a voice call his name. His real name. Without thinking, he started to turn to face whoever called out. Damn! he thought. I’ve blown my own cover! He reversed his turn and started running to the exit. Three bullets hit him in the back. He fell to the floor, inches from the exit. I have to let them know, he thought, as he tried to raise himself up to push on the handle. Another two shots into the back of his head ended that effort.
Late the next evening, Myka was standing in the ship watching Jennifer interact with several Wakira on a video display as they cleaned up after another neighborhood barbecue. He didn’t notice the footsteps behind him.
“They seem to like her.” The person stopped just behind his left shoulder.
“They all like her,” he said. “Are you supposed to be out?”
The voice behind him chittered. “I exited cycle one and a half Terran days ago. You males are safe from me, for now.” They both watched the images on the viewscreen for a few moments. “When will you tell her?”
Myka said nothing, trying hard to ignore the question.
“Mission Commander, if you truly consider the barbarian female to be your friend, you must tell her.”
“She is my friend. Despite my efforts to prevent any sort of attachment to the Terrans, I have become fond of Jennifer. And she is not a barbarian. Her species is immature, but is so much younger than our own. And do not presuppose, Tactician, that you have the right to tell me what I must and must not do.”
“I meant no challenge, Commander. But I say to you again, if she is indeed your friend, she deserves to know.”
Again, he remained silent.
“They have failed the survey, Commander. The survey directive must be carried out.”
He turned sharply, and looked up at her with anger in his eyes. “Again, female, I remind you of my rank. You have no right to tell me what I must and must not do. You are not my mate! And I remind you also, that only the Mission Commander can decide whether a species has passed or failed a survey. No one else. Certainly not someone working as an assistant.” He turned back to watch Jennifer seem to play with the Wakiran males. “I am sorry, Tactician. I know of your marks. I have read the reports of your skills. You are and should be much more than just an assistant.”
“I have taken no offense, Commander. I was pleased when I learned that I would have the opportunity to serve under you on this mission. I just wish I hadn’t gone into cycle on the voyage here.”
“Our Father spoke highly of you, when he added you to my crew list. Had you been male, I’m sure you would be serving in orbit in a tactical position, instead of being used to analyze and decipher the cacophony that is Terran culture.”
“I thank you,” she said, still wishing to press the original issue. “Do you wish that I tell her?”
“No. I am working hard to avoid having to carry out the directive.” He turned to face her again. “Tactician, because of errors — completely understandable ones — made by you and the other analysts, I was required to give Jennifer a formal apology in the name of the Emperor. I told her of the requirement to offer compensation for the reckless dishonor we had done to her. Do you know what she asked for? Did she ask that I abase myself, or humiliate myself in front of the rest of the mission staff? No. Did she ask for wealth, or power, or prestige? No. She asked that if we were to judge them — yes they already suspect — that we judge them on what they will be when they achieve level 5 and voyage to the stars, not on what they are like right now. That is one of the most noble things I have ever experienced. I certainly didn’t expect it from a ‘barbarian’. And so, I am obligated to do that very thing. The Empire is obligated to do that very thing. So, honorable female, they have not failed the survey.”
“You cannot judge a species based solely on one specimen.”
“I can choose what the sample size should be. Even in this settlement, I have found others much like her — honest, helpful, honorable. Contrast this with certain unidentified members of my own staff. Members who took an oath of fealty before we left Homeworld on this mission, and yet have dishonored me by sending raw data back to the palace, and, as a further insult, sending parts of my private personal log to the palace as well. Female, if you had to judge the two species, based on those two samples, which would you say was the one that had failed the survey?”
She said nothing.
“I do not see how this mission can get any worse. To have my own staff betray me while I struggle to carry out this mission with the highest regard to the purpose behind it. Even Jennifer has noticed that something is wrong, with me and with the males she has encountered.”
She closed her eyes. Hesitantly, she said “Mission Commander, I regret to inform you that the mission is about to get worse. And it is this information that has caused me to urge you to tell the female what will happen.”
Myka stiffened. “What information?”
“I have received a coded message from — a male who will remain unidentified. This individual is an officer in the Home Fleet. The message, in code, was ‘Flanking Manoeuver has boarded unnamed LC and is heading for 314’. That is this sector, Commander. Here. Terra.”
“Father? Father is coming here?! Oh Provider no!”
“We should expect a light cruiser to arrive from Homeworld in about 13 or 14 Terran days. If you care about her, Mission Commander, you must tell her.”
Myka sagged and leaned against a nearby bulkhead. “You are sure it gave Father’s coded identification.”
“It said Flanking Manoeuver. I assume that that is your father. Since he was an infantry officer.”
“Oh Provider no,” he said again.
“You must tell her, Commander. Within a nineday. You know what will happen when he arrives. He will relieve you, take command, and order the directive be carried out.”
Myka’s expression was pained.
“In two Terran weeks, this planet and everyone on it will be destroyed.”
Chapter 7
Friday morning’s videoconference with his father did not go well for Myka. The news that his father was on his way to the Terran system confirmed the worst for the mission commander. He had been betrayed by his subordinates — on his father’s direct orders. His father had seen the raw data from the survey of the Terrans and of their history, and, along with certain excerpts of Myka’s personal log, had determined, in the older man’s opinion, that Terrans were an inherently dangerous species, and could not be allowed to achieve faster-than-light travel. They had to be destroyed while it was still ethically acceptable to the Wakira. Myka’s protestations to the contrary fell on deaf ears. Despite his best efforts, Myka knew that the countdown
to the extermination of the Terran species had started.
Friday morning at the barrier, Jennifer discovered that the male who normally manned the post wasn’t there. She greeted the new person in her best Wakiran, and asked about the usual sentry. The answer that he was ill seemed to her to be rehearsed. She was tempted to probe further then decided against it. Something was happening with the Wakira, and it was getting worse. She thanked him and wished him a pleasant day in his language and approached the barrier.
As usual, she pushed one hand through and then the other then stuck her head out. The guard detail didn’t startle as her bodiless head appeared through the black energy curtain. “Hi boys! Human female coming out.”
“Hi Jenny,” Rafe greeted her, while he checked his watch. “You’re late today.”
Jennifer finished stepping through the barrier. “Hi Rafe. Don’t you ever go off-duty?” She brought her long ponytail forward and draped it over her right shoulder. “With hair as long as this, it takes forever to wash.” She paused a moment. “Is that why you never washed your hair when you were in school?”
“Nah. I was too drugged out to care. What a waste of five years of my life!”
“Strangely enough, I felt the same way about high school too, but for a completely different reason. Gotta run. Don’t want to make Bethy wait. Have a great day guys!” She hurried down Emerald and turned right onto Main.
The clinic, always critically short on supplies, ran out of latex gloves by mid-morning. Even the liquid soap dispenser seemed to be on its last legs. A number of people showed up at the clinic suffering from scrapes and bruises and suspected (but not confirmed) broken bones. All the patients paid using health insurance. None of them looked familiar.
General Comiston showed up at his usual time of 12:05, with lunch. Jennifer gave a mock squeal of delight when he pulled out cheese fries from one of the bags. “You realize, of course,” he told her gravely, “that these will undoubtedly give me an early coronary.”
There was little banter or conjecture for that matter while they ate. Jennifer reiterated her observation that something was happening with the aliens — that they were becoming highly stressed. The fact that one of them was purportedly ill, when Myka had told her that the Wakira never became sick, no matter the planet they were on, intensified the concern they felt regarding the as-yet unknown stressor.
At the end of their time together, the general hinted that Jennifer would notice a change on her walk back. Despite her questions, he remained coy and unresponsive as to what his remark meant. “You’ll see when you get back,” was all he told her.
Some time after 4, a man wearing a dark suit (in August?!?!), looking decidedly officious in round wire rimmed glasses, walked into the clinic and started looking around.
“Can I help you?” Jennifer asked, for the third time. “Are you sick or hurt?”
“The shelves are almost empty,” he said to his little voice recorder. “Only one staff member present.”
Jennifer came out from behind the counter and confronted him. “Who are you? Why are you wandering around the clinic?”
He looked up at her (he was a good 4 inches shorter than Jennifer) and sneered. “Who am I indeed? I am from the county auditor’s office. And who might you be?”
County auditor? Why would the county audit a clinic that they had clearly abandoned several months previously? “I am Jennifer Hodges. I’m a nursing assistant here.”
“I wish to speak to the manager. There are irregularities.”
“There is no manager. You guys laid her off over a year ago. You also chased away the only doctor within 40 miles.”
“Then who is responsible for running this clinic?”
Jennifer didn’t like the man’s attitude. There was something quite pit-bullish about him. “There are three staffers left. Aside from me, there are two nurses who split the other shifts. We manage by consensus, though I’m the one who ends up having to call the county asking where our supplies are, or send nastygrams when I’m given the run-around. Why are you here?”
“Why indeed?” He stepped right up to Jennifer and smiled a most demonic smile. “I wish to see the billing files.”
“There are no billing files,” Jennifer responded, leaning forward so her face was practically over his head. “As I told you, you laid off the manager, who also took care of the billings and remittances. When we get a patient come in who pays by insurance, we send the whole thing to the county for processing. Just like we were told to do.”
“The files are not here? The files are required to be here. They are to be made available for inspection at any time. You are in violation.”
I’d like to violate your face, Jennifer thought, trying hard not to look angry. “The county told us to send them all the paperwork, when they laid off Mrs. Brown. They have the files. You need to inspect them there.”
“No. I am required to inspect them here.” He emphasized the last word.
“Well that’s going to be slightly difficult isn’t it, since we did as we were told and sent them to the county office. If you wish, you can sit down and wait for them to magically reappear.”
“You are being obstructive. This too is going into my report.”
“I don’t care what you put in your report. None of us have been paid in over 9 weeks. So, what’s the worst you can do? Fire us?”
“Where did you sell the supplies?”
“I didn’t sell any supplies. We haven’t gotten any supplies in 3 months. Don’t start accusing me of stuff.” Jennifer could feel her anger building to a crescendo.
“That’s not what these bills of lading say. They say you were sent tens of thousands of dollars of supplies. What have you done with them?”
“There were no supplies. There haven’t been supplies. Why don’t you go back to the county office and audit them. Since that’s where the problem seems to lie.”
“No, Miss Hodges. The problem lies with you. Did you not think that there would be repercussions from your radio interview? Where you told a nationwide audience that you haven’t been paid in months? Where you stated that the county had abandoned the clinic and this town?”
Jennifer glared at him. His smile grew more malevolent. “You owe the county a total of $22,501 for the missing supplies, and an estimated $19,000 in patient billings. We will be putting a lien on your property. If the sums are not paid in full in 30 days, we will pursue criminal action. Good day, Miss Hodges.” He quickly walked out the door.
Jennifer staggered back to her chair. Forty-two thousand dollars? She didn’t have $42,000. She had about $4 left in her bank account. How the heck was she going to come up with $42,000?
A sob came forth unexpected. Then another. “No. I’m stronger than this!” Then a third. “I will not cry. Words can never make me cry. Not anymore. I’m stronger than they are!” She sobbed again. “No one can make me cry with words. Never again!” Despite her declaration, she slumped in her chair and wept bitterly.
About 30 minutes later, Bethy showed up. By this time, Jennifer had stopped sobbing, but tears occasionally would stream down her cheeks. She told Bethy what had happened.
“You can’t let them intimidate you, kid,” Bethy told her. “You can’t let them hurt you like this. This is so patently unfair! Rather than admit their mistakes, they sent an administrative goon to threaten you. To punish you. We did what they told us to do with the billings. And the bull droppings they gave you about the supplies — they know perfectly well that they haven’t sent us supplies in 3 months. If it wasn’t for Wally and Steve ‘forgetting’ stuff here every time they picked someone up in the ambulance, we’d have run out of everything long before now.” She lifted Jennifer’s chin, and used her thumbs to wipe away the young woman’s tears. “We’ll show them, Jenn. Don’t give up. Don’t let bullies like that win. Any shipments that supposedly arrived since the Wakira showed up would have to have cleared the two cordons around the town. The army would have records of them. All we ha
ve to do is prove that one of the bills of lading is faked. If one of them is faked, then it’ll be easy to force them to admit that they are all fake. You leave it to me. Now, go home.”
Jennifer looked up at the wall clock. “It’s not even 5 o’clock yet, Bethy. You’re not supposed to start for another hour.” She paused a second. “What are you doing here early anyways?”
“Trudy Jensen’s boy saw you crying through the window. His mom got him to go to my place and tell me. Rob is finishing up the supper I had started. The kids are going to play next door until sundown. Rob will bring dinner here and he and I will have a quiet 90 minutes together. It’ll be almost romantic.” She laughed after the last remark. “Now, go home. Forget everything about the weasel, spend time with your alien friend and forget all about it. You have fun this weekend, understood?”
Jennifer looked Bethy in the eyes. “Back to giving orders, Lieutenant?” she said jokingly.
“Someone’s gotta be the commander of our little outfit. Now go. Before Rob comes and you spoil the atmosphere.” They both rolled their eyes. “Scat!”
Jennifer stood and hugged her friend. “I owe you, Bethy. Thanks.”
The comfort she had gotten from Bethy’s early arrival had evaporated before she had crossed Amethyst Street on her walk home. The feelings of fear and self-doubt came flooding back in, and she found herself weeping well before she reached Emerald. She was oblivious to everything around her, reliving the confrontation over and over again. She didn’t notice a member of the guard detail ask her to stop for identification, nor did she notice the familiar voice of the sergeant telling him to let her pass. It wasn’t until she bumped into a Wakiran male that she snapped out of it.
“I apologize,” she said to him in his language. Then in English, “The barrier! What happened to the barrier?”
And What of Earth? Page 8