“I did not see the sign, I am sorry,” Zurra said. The words were like ash in his mouth. He was an officer of the Empire! Never before in his life had he been treated with such disrespect.
Zurra saw the first punch out of the corner of his eye. His hand grabbed the human’s wrist and he twisted it up, hearing the resounding snap of bone and a wail of pain. Easier than expected.
Two of the humans backed off, stunned by the krokator’s swift response, but two of the more inebriated ones lunged. Zurra stepped back and dragged their wailing friend into their path. One of the humans tripped, and Zurra let go of his first victim’s broken wrist, settling back into a defensive stance.
The still-lunging human more or less fell forward into Zurra, who grabbed him by the shoulders as he pivoted out of the way. Using his quarry’s momentum, Zurra spun the human into the air and he flew several yards before landing with a thud in the sand.
Zurra’s head snapped back to the main group of humans, where he saw the big, yellow-haired leader charging, wielding a bottle in his hand like a club. Zurra sidestepped the haphazard swing of the glass bludgeon and responded by catching the human with the side of his hand in his enemy’s stomach. The human flipped over twice in the air and landed with a crunch, his leg sticking out at an awkward angle as he grabbed his knee and screamed.
Zurra noticed that a large crowd of humans had assembled to watch the fight. The rest of the drunken males that had gathered to attack him were inching away, seeing two of their friends severely injured and another two groaning in lesser but no less evident pain.
“I do not want to fight anyone,” Zurra said. “I will leave if you let me go in peace.”
Despite having trouble understanding his accent, the humans got the message well enough to clear out of the way to allow him to leave. Zurra did not meet their glances, looking straight ahead and avoiding the short, scrawny aliens who had attacked him with such cowardice. Nowhere in the Empire would even a bunchu have been treated with such dishonor.
As he approached the pavement, two strange, floating vehicles skimmed to a halt, red and blue lights atop each flashing merrily. Out of each vehicle, two humans covered in thick battle armor emerged, training their guns on Zurra. Four letters, LAPD, were written in bright yellow on their chests.
“Freeze, motherfucker!” one of the new humans said and approached Zurra. “You are under arrest!”
Zurra paused, unsure how to react. What crime had he committed? The humans on the beach had attacked him! “I have done nothing wrong,” he said slowly, making sure to enunciate his words. “I am returning to the embassy.”
“You’re not going anywhere,” one of the humans cried. “We will use force to subdue you if we have to!”
Zurra looked around, bewildered. What in the name of the Truuknan was going on? Was he being apprehended by the local security garrison?
Something struck him and he felt his limbs go limp. It must have been a stun-shot of some kind, because he collapsed to the ground and two of the humans in battle armor ran up to him and slapped a pair of reinforced magnetic cuffs around his wrists.
“You’re in big trouble, space gorilla.”
“I don’t care if the fucking Emperor is your brother, you ain’t never seeing the light of day again, Crock.”
Crock. Was that really the best slur they had for krokator?
#
Orget Jerven, the Imperial Ambassador to the Human Alliance, was a heavyset krokator who was at most a few years younger than Nikkwill. He was a purple-skin, with a richly done tokkom and a narrow, high-cheeked face that suggested a wealthy lineage. His eyes were deep and wise, and his tusks had been filed to the finest stubs Zurra had ever seen. He wore a dark blue tunic and kekkalo with white trim.
“You know what they used to call me?” Jerven asked in Krokam as Zurra was magnetically locked to a chair in the embassy’s briefing room. He glanced up at the two LAPD officers flanking Zurra and said, in Standard, “This is official territory of the Krokator Star Empire. You are already in a gray area as far as interstellar law goes. I will not ask you to leave again.”
“Mr. Ambassador, he assaulted and gravely injured four humans on a public beach that is zoned with an anti-ET ordinance.”
“And Sharm Akgu Zurra, unfortunately for the both of us, has been afforded diplomatic immunity,” Jerven replied. He glared at Zurra. “We will handle the disciplinary measures from here, officer. Thank you for bringing this incident to my attention.”
The two officers looked flustered but accepted the ambassador’s request. Two aruntuk outside the door fell in behind the LAPD officers to escort them out as they left the room.
Jerven returned his full attention to Zurra. “They called me Orget One-Leg. I did not even get the benefit of my personal name, just my family style and moniker.” He patted his right leg. “I was in the Academy too, once. Never earned my braids though. All I got was my leg blown off in a training accident. They gave me a robotic replacement and I went into prize fighting. I was a little bit bigger and stronger in my youth, as I am sure you can imagine.”
The ambassador sat down at the table in the middle of the room. “Sharm Zurra, I must say I am thoroughly impressed. In less than twenty-four hours on this planet you have been apprehended and tagged by the Special Intelligence Service upon landing, and you decided to celebrate this by beating up a group of humans on a public beach.” Jerven opened a jug of beastwine and poured the liquid into one of the two cups on the table. “Now, I will explain this only once – here on Terra, the locals have a genius concept known as an ‘ET ordinance.’ It is possibly the most short-sighted public policy the galaxy has ever known.”
“What does ET mean?” Zurra asked, speaking for the first time since arriving in the ambassador’s briefing room.
“It stands for Extra-Terrestrial,” Jerven replied, struggling with pronouncing the long word. “It is a human word, and it means to them what bunchu means to us. It is the official name in Standard for an alien, but the humans reduce their longer word for it down to ‘ET’ as a pejorative. It is a slur. Much like Crock. I am sure you have been called a Crock more than once since landing here?”
“Since the moment I arrived, in fact,” Zurra replied, thinking back on the technicians heckling him at the spaceport landing pad.
“That is the reality of our situation here,” Jerven said and sipped the beastwine. “Few species in the galaxy like other species, but I know of no alien race as xenophobic and fear-driven as the humans. You should hear the things they say. That we are a threat to their existence, that we are soaking up their livelihood on this Ukkum-blasted rock of a planet, or that we are akin to animals because we are not them.”
Zurra was silent, sensing that Jerven was about to begin a lengthy rant. The ambassador took a bigger gulp of beastwine and breathed deeply. “The humans hate their ET’s, and they hate us in particular. You and I both know that there is a lot of bad blood historically between the Empire and the Alliance. We have certainly brought a bit of it upon ourselves with some of our more… ambitious reaches for conquest, but the humans are just as much the culprits. Remember, they were the ones who used the superbombs so liberally that the whole galaxy outlawed them. These aliens loathe us with every ounce in their being.
“As a result, Sharm Zurra, your behavior today is completely unacceptable. If you were my charge instead of Nikkwill’s, I would have let those policemen haul you off without batting an eyelash. Assaulting humans on a human beach. You must be out of your mind.”
Zurra stared at the floor. He could not recall the last time he had been berated so viciously by a superior. He was humiliated.
Jerven poured himself more beastwine. “The strings I have to pull around here… I am glad I have powerful friends. Serving on Terra for thirteen years affords you a certain degree of freedom. I have been friends with all their power brokers and have seen their politicians come and go. But I am curious, Zurra… do you punch citizens of the Empire on reg
ular occasion when you are out for a run, or do you just make an exception when you are in the capital city of our people’s traditional enemy?”
Zurra angrily growled, “Ambassador Jerven, I do not mean to be insolent, but I have had enough of your passive insults. High Prod Nikkwill was explicit in that I answer to you when I am on this world, so I accept any consequence you deem appropriate. You know that I provoked nobody and was unaware of exactly how dangerous this planet is for our kind.” He paused and took a deep breath. “If you do not seek to deliver punishment, however, I respectfully ask that you cease questioning my intelligence or record. I am here at the behest of the Lady Erenna to attempt to fulfill her nohoken, and I only ask your assistance in carrying out my assignment as best I can.”
Jerven was genuinely stunned. He blinked, ran a hand along the back of his neck and sighed. “I apologize, Sharm Zurra. I was told that you spoke with your father’s confidence and eloquence, and it is true.”
“Thank you, it is a compliment I do not deserve. I do not mean to question your authority, Ambassador. I acknowledge my shortcomings this morning, but we are wasting time.”
“I suppose we are, yes.” Jerven rose and pressed a button on the side of Zurra’s chair that deactivated his magnetic restraints. Zurra massaged his sore wrist and nodded in silent thanks.
“Would you like some beastwine?” the ambassador asked as he retook his seat.
“Yes, thank you,” Zurra replied. He needed a drink after his tumultuous experience in the morning and day before.
Jerven filled the second cup and handed it to Zurra, studying the soldier’s expression of relief. “I hope you now see exactly how alone we really are out here.”
“Most definitely, yes.”
“This morning was just the tip of the iceberg. The local police brought you here because you were so close to the embassy and I know their superiors relatively well. Next time, you will be in prison. If you get in real trouble, you will either be dead or the Krokator Empire will never have heard of you.” He shook his head. “I feel like sukuda get told this all the time, and yet they disappear at a rate of at least one to two per year. This year has been the worst. Five sukuda lost. Two of them were found... the other three were not.”
“Who do you think killed them?”
“Overzealous humans, perhaps. Maybe something worse. It is no secret that ET criminal groups wield a lot more power in Los Angeles than the humans want to admit. And it all converges in a place the locals call the Zone. It is described as a special area specifically set aside for ETs to live in, but is really a city-sized prison where the humans can keep all the undesirables in one place.”
Zurra grimaced. “I have a hard time believing that. Why would anyone ever…?”
“You assume that the humans think the same way we do,” Jerven said testily. He swirled his beastwine in the cup. “We have a rigid order of superior-inferior relationships. They have an assumed one. We have a system of government that has been in place for over a thousand years and has flourished when applied to multiple solar systems. The humans elect self-serving politicians who pander to conglomerates to get money so they can get elected again. And to think the Progressives want to emulate the Alliance model.”
“What does this Zone have to do with the assassination of the Emperor?”
Jerven laughed audibly and shook his head, amused. “Sharm Zurra, you are funnier than most soldiers. Much funnier. If I knew the answer to that, you would not be here.”
“The High Prod suggested there may be a connection between a Rukkurosh criminal named Kamaan Dakkal and a human company that operated a contraband market on Piskka.”
“I do not know how that is connected exactly to the Hudda Kugrall, Sharm Zurra. I have heard a thing or two about the Piskka incident though. There is a company that operates in the Alliance called Hessian Engineering. They are one of numerous private military contractors – more or less a mercenary army and weapons manufacturer that sells its services to the government. Or the highest bidder.”
“And you think there is a new employer for this company?”
“Hessian Engineering is run by a man named Colin Hess. He is an influential man in the military-industrial field and has friends throughout the human bureaucracy.”
Zurra considered this information. “The name of the company is familiar.”
“Now, I do not want to insinuate that Hessian Engineering is directly funding the Hudda Kugrall, but our sukuda chief here has different ideas. At the very least, somebody was cutting a profit that should not have been.”
“And Dakkal? He escaped us in Ankina, but we think he may be here.”
Jerven shrugged. “I have no idea. That name is unfamiliar to me. I am sure there are a variety of criminals in the Zone with whom Hudda Kugrall would associate and Hessian Engineering would love to have distributing guns for them. Naturally, Hess would never directly sponsor that kind of operation – he would want a middle man, someone who can deal with the dirty work of the business while handling the payoffs to the politicians.”
“Do you believe that this conspiracy is that complex?”
“Sharm Zurra, you have a lot to learn about the Alliance and how entrenched these criminals are. The gangsters running drugs on the street are just as powerful as the ones running the government.” Jerven checked his clock. “I have a meeting I need to attend. I want you to stay at the embassy tonight, but I will let you go out and explore tomorrow. The sukuda chair will give me a brief on potential leads for you.”
Zurra rose and saluted Jerven. “Thank you, ambassador.”
“Just do not cause any more trouble. The SIS and police know who you are now. Soon, our enemies will know too.”
#
Three krokator sat huddled around a gukka pipe in a dimly lit concrete room. One of them struck a match and held it under the bowl of the metal pipe, listening to the molasses-like blue substance inside the bowl crackle as it slowly cooked.
A large blue-skin entered through a bead curtain. “Jurkken, sir, you have a visitor.”
The krokator in the middle, a short, rotund tan-skin, grimaced and shifted his considerable weight on his pillowed seat. “Who is it?”
“Grakko’s human friend,” the blue-skin answered. “Perry.”
“Ukkum strike me, what does that hrain want this time?” Jurkken asked and grabbed the pipe away from the other krokator. “Tell him he can come in. Unarmed.”
The blue-skin complied. Jurkken sucked on the pipe and felt the taste of the gukka smoke in his mouth. He felt light-headed and smiled broadly as he exhaled.
“What do you think Perry wants this time?” one of the other two krokator asked as Jurkken passed him the pipe.
“Probably wants me to do him another favor. I have done that man enough favors, no?”
Both krokator nodded as Perry entered the room through the beads and waved. “Do gara, komok.” Good evening, friend.
Jurkken smiled and replied in Standard, “Your pronunciation is getting better, Eli.”
“I have business to discuss with you. Can we go somewhere private?”
Jurkken glanced at both of his friends before handing the gukka pipe to the krokator on the left. “Very well. Follow me.”
They slipped out of the private lounge and stepped out into a large gukka bar. Dozens of krokator sat on large pillows, smoking out of a myriad of devices. The distinctive tangy aroma of gukka hung in the air like a fog and had attached itself to every surface in the room.
“I do love coming down here,” Perry commented dryly. “Remind me, how many in here are actually your customers and how many of them are your employees?”
“Who said there was a difference?” Jurkken answered and pushed aside another bead curtain to a back hallway. At the end of the hallway, a broad-shouldered and tattooed purple-skin sat on a chair in front of a cold, iron door. As they approached, the guard rose and unlocked the door.
“Lock it behind us,” Jurkken said in Krokam as
he opened the portal and turned to smile at Perry. “After you, komok.”
Perry regarded Jurkken warily before complying, grabbing onto a handrail to guide himself down the dark staircase beyond the door.
He reached the bottom of the stairwell and heard Jurkken loudly say, “Godaka!” The basement’s AI responded by flipping on high-powered fluorescent lights. Jurkken stepped in front of Perry. “Impressed? I did not think Hess’s contractors could do such a good job.”
“Yes, Hess, I was going to mention him – he’ll be here in a few days for the security summit.”
Jurkken sighed. “Yes, I heard they moved it up a few weeks. No luck in postponing it?”
“French has no weight in military matters, so it isn’t my fault. Do we have something to work with in the meantime?”
“That is your problem!” Jurkken said with a laugh and turned to walk down the stale metal hallway. “I have my own people to answer to. Do not even ask me to start worrying about your overlords.”
“I don’t have any ‘overlords’ or whatever you want to call them,” Perry snapped and followed Jurkken. “You wouldn’t be here without me, without my contacts.”
“Oh, right, your contacts. Your contacts certainly worked out well for me and Dakkal on Piskka,” Jurkken grunted. “We lost millions after that debacle. Grakko and the Black Prod almost strung me up by my own tusks!”
Perry rolled his eyes. “Look, I need a favor…”
Jurkken beckoned for Perry to follow him into an adjoining room. Crates lined the walls from floor to ceiling. The portly krokator grabbed one of the crates off of a smaller stack and opened it. It was filled with okka needles, individually shrink-wrapped in plastic.
“Do you have any idea how much I can sell these for here? In Los Angeles? A hundred credits a needle. Nobody else has these. Nobody. I have made sure of it.”
“We have other things to worry about.”
“You have other things to worry about, Eli. I have a business to run, and it just got harder without Lugrash.”
“Lugrash’s death is just a setback. There are plenty of other smugglers.”
“I know several, and they are all good. But Lugrash was the best. He had a great processing warehouse, gave the right people a cut, kept a low profile, and he never got greedy.” Jurkken pointed one of his stubby fingers in Perry’s face. “And then you, getting spooked like always, ask him to go kill a bureaucrat for you. And a well-liked MID agent gets injured in the process. Suddenly, people know who Lugrash is and want to find him. It is your fault we are in this mess to begin with.”