by Jane Palmer
***
A deathly hush fell over the Mott military high command.
Half-seated and half-standing between the two pillars erected to glorious conquest, the supreme commander announced in stentorian tones, ‘If anyone so much as mentions the words “distort net” or “planet dweller” again, they will be taken out of here and blasted.’
At that the silence intensified to the point where the grey pillars of conquest might have been heard to whisper, if it had occurred to anyone to listen.
‘This should never have happened,’ the supreme commander went on. ‘That devious miscreant Kulp and his accomplices must have known the vegetation on that planet was dependent on the creature living in it and deliberately misinformed us. Now they will be hunted and done to death.’
At this point murmurs of approval should have echoed throughout the hall, but everyone was still holding their breath.
‘The Olmuke’s treachery should have been discovered by the commander of the monitoring station. He too failed in his duty and will be found guilty of incompetence at his court martial. Now we must decide on other strategies to adopt in our conquest of the galaxy. As we are in closed session, this time our plans will not be made public to other species. Whatever we decide will be carried out by the Mott for the benefit of the Mott Empire.’
As he had warned the assembly to be careful what words it used, none were forthcoming, apart from the fact that no one had wit enough to think of a plan that quickly.
‘I will make a proposal, then.’ The supreme commander knew his plan wouldn’t be challenged. ‘We shall construct fleets of bombers that can surround a planet in formation and fire in synchronisation at its surface. This will completely disrupt their ground and satellite communications. That way we can exterminate the inhabitants before they are able to react.’
Though the plan was not all that original, it was typical of the Mott, and polite applause rippled through the hall. The supreme commander tucked his other two legs beneath him in his comfortable seat. He knew there would be little problem in extracting the minerals and wealth required for such a project from subject planets.
With no one daring to submit a plan better than his, the war council ended.
Stopping only briefly to gloat over his new plan to tackle old problems, the supreme commander rose and led his entourage back to the discomfort of their grey and black battleship, Galacticus 20482201091476.
‘Thank goodness that’s over,’ said one pillar of victory to the other. ‘These Mott smell bad enough one at a time. Altogether like that it’s unbelievable.’
‘Can’t you stop complaining for one minute?’ replied the second pillar. ‘The only other alternative was to become one of them.’
‘Well, I suppose solid rock does have more charm, but I think I prefer the fur coat again.’
‘I’m rather in favour of becoming Kulp now,’ was the thoughtful response. ‘You can become Tolt and Jannu.’
‘Can’t you think of anything more aesthetically pleasing than that?’
‘It’s a good way to lure the Mott. We could lead them into whatever trap we like.’
‘Oh, all right. But after that it’s my turn to be Dax.’
‘Oh, very well. If it’ll stop you complaining. Just remember we’ve got only a few million years to clean this place up.’
With a promise to allow Reniola and Dax to use their identities whenever they wished, Kulp, Jannu and Tolt were free to pursue their own brand of havoc-making. The red herrings those two wonder-entities would sprinkle about the galaxy could give them the opportunity for all the engineered mischievousness that had spent a lifetime festering under Kulp’s bald pate. He was indeed committed to his new cause, as single-mindedly as he had been to greed. Jannu and Tolt, willing to find out whether compassion had been grafted onto his nature as well, tagged along, knowing there were worse ways of dying than of humiliation.