King's War

Prelude:

Everyone knew what they were––they’d been there often enough. The fat yellow pen ships floated above the gray sea waiting patiently at the coastline as the snatcher ships leisurely drifted in towards the village.

Red uniformed catchers stepped out of the ships eventually and then strolled lazily into the town.

People stood or lay where they had been at the ships’ arrival. A dark-haired pregnant woman had been in the process of ascending a staircase. Paralyzed in mid stride her Off balance body tipped over backwards and bounced heavily down the stone steps. Her fall ended against the last step, her skull cracked open like an egg––one of the lucky ones.

One Harvester in a gold turban chuckled in amusement to a companion as he walked by the woman. He carried a paint gun and began firing color pennants at the frozen statues. Red for harvest to the floating pens, white for the recreational hunt, and black for garbage––simple termination. He didn’t bother painting the woman.

This particular slave colony had no further economic function and would be cleared of all life. It might have been left to expire on its own but the land itself had real estate value. Construction of the seaside subdivision was scheduled to start shortly. There was actually quite a bit of pressure coming from the banks to get the area cleared before the new owners arrived to start development.

Serviceable young adults were garnered for the pens, though when there were overages in category quotas, some were left as additional challenge for the sport hunters.

The old were of little economic utility––too high a spoilage risk to waste time on estivant reactors––just garbage. Infants and preadolescents were usually broken down for organ and tissue banks.

The young white turbaned hunters were brought down for training exercises in range management.

The Harvester cult was a very old order in the stars, with a deep sense of its place in the making of things. The next generation needed the warm scent of cooling blood on its boots to build on those traditions. It was not as though slave organisms could be capable of any other destiny.

The static fields were released and the slave stock began the pell-mell scattering that made this particular sport such a passion with the younger Harvesters. The creatures were never really unconscious when stunned, and always had plenty of time to ruminate on the nature of their future, or lack thereof. The heady perfume of their panic was part of the delight of these hunts.

Occasionally one beast, or sometimes even several, would have the wit and temerity to yoke its terror and become a sporting threat.

Every one of the young Harvesters had something to kill. The sport strengthened and purified the callow spoilers.

The colony died in its entirety that day. There were no wild heroes of note. It was a satisfying but not particularly noteworthy hunt.

Chapter 1

XaXa* had walked from the Bosque Chapultapec over to the Museo de Antroplogica. She was in the Pink Zone at the moment where most of the tourists hung out. It was night in La Ciudad de Mexico, but along La Paseo de la Reforma you could have read a book easily. Smog, smelling of raw gasoline, still hung in the air from the eight million cars which ran its streets during the day.

Contact lenses both protected and disguised her eyes. They were a particularly poor fit and her eyes felt like lead marbles. Her feet were killing her. Terran gravity had been trying to collapse her two meter frame to planetary center ever since she dropped down. Her face burned from some weird chemical in the makeup she found in a convenience store. No one was going to mistake her for local. She was just hoping to pass for human.

Actually, she was human, she just wasn’t this kind of human.

And with all these intrigues she still was getting nowhere with this little project.

And the language! Spanish was actually the dominant language on this subcontinent. That was completely unexpected. She had barely needed it even when she was down here the last time. It had been Castilian then of course. She could barely find the restrooms in this city.

She had come expecting the Nahuatl of the Aztecs. That particular culture was hardly a loss to their world, but who would have thought that pompous undersized moron, Cortez could have brought down one of the bloodier empires of the Galaxy. And he’d done it with a couple of hundred illiterate farm hands and some black powder cannon.

Betty* had found Harvester operations at these coordinates early that morning. All of which meant that at this moment some of the local citizenry were being stunned and bagged. The bodies would be piling up somewhere fairly private and out of the way for a few hours painfully pre-chilling prior to up-shipment to the pens.

They would be conscious of course. They always were. That was one of the horrors of this trade. The Harvesters liked it that way; it was something about the scent of terror. Of late, the quarry had been mostly children. They froze down faster.

Betty* had forecast at least twenty individual operatives in the Pink Zone, and XaXa* wanted them all. However, that was not the plan for this mission. It would have to wait for another time.

There would be another time. XaXa* reserved plenty of room on her calendar for that encounter.

XaXa* carried personal armament enough to take out large mountains. That was just the stuff she had on her at any given moment. She commanded hardware which could powder a planet.

She wasn’t really a pessimist––at least she never thought of it that way. However, she generally planned for operations to go wrong, and usually at the most precarious, and least credible point. It all made for far less disappointment. Every once-in-awhile there was the uncommon happy surprise.

So far adversity had not really been a factor in this operation. Nothing had been going on at all.

The Burger Boy had only a few customers when she entered. She ordered a drink that seemed nontoxic––carbonic acid mixed with the extracts of some sort of sweetened agricultural product. It seemed the safest option and at least she didn’t throw up this time. The thought of eating another ground up dead thing forced to decompose in its own fat, still left her a little queasy. She found a corner booth where she could continue to cover the street.

To the waitress at the counter, XaXa* looked to be just another foreign tourist––probably Italian, maybe from that oddly conceived country just to the North. The girl wasn’t particularly interested, but she did think XaXa* was definitely makeup impaired. Her choice of foundation was completely wrong. She looked like a painted china doll. She had seen mental patients try to paint their faces on like that. She wondered if, perhaps, XaXa* might be one of those. She thought XaXa* looked really bored and distracted when she sat down to watch the street.

The waitress was really much more interested in the young man with the soft green eyes who had come in just before. She could tell he was Norte Americano from the way he tried to speak Spanish. She had been trying to get him to look over her way so she could smile at him.

XaXa* knew all of this because she had slid into the waitress’ mind and was feeling like a pervert for doing it. No matter what she might think of their level of civilization, these were still people. She disliked dropping into people’s heads like this, but the waitress had been here all day and might have seen or known something XaXa* had missed on the streets.

She noted the waitress had some very creative ideas regarding the youngish-looking man at the other table; something to do with handcuffs, feathers and a lot of something called olive oil. She smiled appreciatively to herself and wished the young huntress well. If she was representative of the women around here there just might be some hope for these people.

Xaxa* briefly moved over to the man and got just a bit of a shock. The affect was much like walking into someone unexpectedly in a dark hallway. He was not quite so fresh and innocent as his admirer thought. Oh, he was definitely worth the girls interest though—delightfully depraved even by XaXa*’s standards. His mind had a hot, dangerous feel, enticing her to look closer. This was a very different kind of mind from what she had come to expect here. She had to stop herself before she got too distracted. It was like meeting a forgotten childhood playmate. But as it turned out there wouldn’t have been time for that anyway.

The window beside her exploded into the restaurant, wrapping glass needles and a blue-green gel of poison around her body shields. Any minor cut and the body would be dead before the mind could register the shutdown. It was so childishly primitive. Well, at least she had found what she was looking for.

Chapter 2

The interior of the restaurant was smoldering. The place was hot. The fire would not catch yet due to the lack of oxygen in the interior. Glass shards and wet poison dripped along the interior walls. The green gel was already evaporating. There would be no trace of the toxins for any forensic experts. The news services would attribute this latest disruption of the public sanctity to the local bicycling-quilter societies or maybe the communists and nazis. And that would be that.

There was a hole high in the wall of the building––a neatly rounded hole with clean crisping edges. XaXa*’s shields had momentarily carried and deflected the inertial energy of the cannon––the hole was the result. She had to rock the shield’s repellers a couple of times to break up the slag around her body. A mask of her face shattered on the floor.

This had been a particularly simple-minded hit. The killers had focused a sonic cannon on a wide beam, and stoked the energy zone with packets of a short-life pseudo-cyanide compound. They had intended to either rip apart or shoot poison into the blood of everyone in the restaurant. Her shields had disrupted much of the beam. Most of the mess had been refracted upward.

Other than the hole in the wall, the restaurant itself wasn’t too badly off. The waitress had been standing behind the counter and the expanding air wave had knocked her backward. The flying glass would have, otherwise, shredded her. She was going into shock, but she was alive. Even the gel had missed her. It was a miserable end to what might have been a much more pleasant evening.

There was no sign of the man she had been trying to smile at––just an upturned table. Gel and glass filled the corner. The odds were not in his favor, and that was truly a shame. She hoped he might make it. His waitress had a very good grasp of what makes life important.

But there was no time now, and XaXa* was moving before the flying glass had hit the floor. This particular weapon required a straight line of sight. It was pure stone-age. The trajectory of the beam had indicated an attack from less than fifty meters away. She was not about to miss this chance.

To no-one in particular she said, "Betty*, we got a fire down here. I’m doing okay, but I'm gong to need a retrieval...pretty quick."

From nowhere in particular a woman’s voice said, "gotcha, Hon. Be down there in second."

Her shields still on, XaXa* punched through a wall to the street, and almost to the fading glow of the cannon’s impeller, when she was caught in the crossbeam of two other cannon.

It was not a particularly good idea for this type of cannon. The beams were not in resonance and were setting up cooler interference zones, freezing the gel to poison snow. The feedback to the guns would shake them to pieces within seconds. Even so her shields blazed through the spectrum, diffracting a cascade of colors, mostly visible only to XaXa*’s eyes. The gel mist made a slippery mess against her shields and she hit the street, sliding gracelessly on her back.

Suddenly one of the cannons stopped. She had heard an earsplitting scream jumbled in with the sound of a water balloon slopping against the wall. Then the sonic cannon was skating across the pavement towards her. She ricocheted off a wall, swiveling backwards on her shields to face the direction the cannon had come from; and then––found her capacity for surprise intact.

The other cannon had diverted fire towards a shadow slipping along the wall. Evidently she had a benefactor––not the kind of trouble she really wanted right now. Probably a stray Mexican cop with his little toy of a machine gun, but the shape looked somewhat familiar. Whoever it was seemed terribly misinformed about her status; although she had to admit, that could be understandable, considering her present seating arrangement.

XaXa* had forgotten the weight of her contacts. The left one had popped out in the action of the attack, giving her a monocular view of the mess in the street.

The darkened street was a blaze of color to XaXa, whose eyes were tuned to a much different spectrum than Terran’. She snapped the other contact out––better. Evidently she was going to be playing in the dark for awhile––well, dark for the other people who lived here.

There would be problems, if she got face to face with any of the locals––XaXa*’s eyes were the brilliant orange of a morning sunrise. Sometimes, though, you just have to make do.

She noted in passing that there was a gooey mess of something like a mushy human hand attached to the weapon laying in the street––but only something like.

She grabbed the gun, and shook off the mess. She didn’t need the weapon, but leaving it for stray Terran hands to find would be almost as troublesome as the spooks attacking her now. And just who was this, "helper" she had picked up?

She focused on the other attacker. The cannon was handy but she was fairly sure that it would explode buildings in back of her target if she used it.

She pulled a short range needle gun from a wrist holster, and blew a few dozen charged darts into the crowd forming with the attacker. The effect was immediate and very gratifying. Each needle carried a shaped pulse designed to overcharge neurons.

He, or rather it, was already firing at the shadow. Which was somehow making itself a surprisingly difficult target. She didn’t have much time for appreciation. All this character had was himself––no shields, no energy weapons, and certainly not much sense.

She saw him snap a side thrust kick through one spook, claw eyes and jam a spear hand through the belly of another. Now where had she seen all that before? The guy was a real artist. His speed wasn’t so great but the technique was beautifully spare and clean. Unfortunately, this was no spectator sport.

He was hopelessly outgunned. These things were not impressed that they were dying, whatever they were. She closed her distance to the fight, firing needles.

She spun into a reverse kick, thrusting into what felt like bread dough. The odor was incredibly offensive and she couldn’t pull her leg free. Several spooks tried to pull her down. She fired her shields to repel, but not before a human hand began ripping through jelly bodies.

The man had changed his tactics slightly. He was ripping and tearing instead of striking for nerves and bones. He was pretty fast on the uptake, but this was getting nowhere. This fool fought like he could win, and he was going to die very soon.

She really was getting curious about who or what was attached to these hands. She shook free of the jelly pieces of pseudo-human. There was an acrid odor, and she wondered what kind of slime the things were made of this time. It wasn’t the first time she had come across these glue-ball constructs.

She wrapped her arms around the man and activated the shield impellers at the ground. They both shot up at an angle fifty meters into the air, and caromed off the wall of a building in the process.

XaXa* took a moment to enlarge the cocoon of her field to include her passenger and then fired horizontally. They shot away like a soap bubble in the wind. Her charge hadn’t moved––not a good sign. She gained enough altitude to clear the buildings around her and jumped across the Pink Zone to La Paseo de la Reforma. She crossed Reforma high enough above the lights to be out of view, and dropped down in a rare block of shadow and trees.

She knew the momentary peace was not going to last. The smelly beasties would have tracked her flight trajectory. Mostly, she wanted a chance to see what she was carrying.

And there was a surprise. It was the man from the restaurant. He smelled of jellied ghoul...and blood; a lot of very human blood. With sick apprehension she saw her hands covered with the wet black. There was a neat hole punched just a bit below his heart.

His eyes were open as he saw the little white VW Rabbit pull up and flip open its doors. He wasn’t really with her as she picked him up easily and slid him into the passenger seat.

"You’re one strong woman...!" he whispered.

He roused enough to seem very interested in the way slugs flattened against the glass of the V.W., and just slid off like rain. Then he looked over at her and chuckled, "heart seems to be off."

Explosions whispered and flashed, pelting the outside of the car as she slid into the drivers seat.

He smiled inquiringly over at her. He had noticed the absence of a steering wheel in front of her. He watched with a detached fascination, as the windshield vanished and the view was replaced with a fog of ghostly images and geometric shapes. He probably couldn’t see most of the colors. Terrans didn’t see in the same spectral domain as she did. They would be flashing in and out just at the edge of his vision.

XaXa* screamed in exasperation, "Betty*, get us out of here!" And the car leaped almost instantly to sunup height above the city.

There had been no sense of motion; no crush of gravity; just inertia-less transit, and the flash of morning sun over the smog filled Valley of Mexico.

He looked over at XaXa*, smiled weakly and slurred, "not from around here are you...?" His eyes had glazed over before he could finish.

She reached briefly into his mind as he died. She didn’t want him to be alone. There was something about a rabbit and not being in Kansas, and then he slipped into the dark.

Chapter 3

XaXa* had relaxed some after the door closed. She looked over at her male companion, and shook here head. "Damn you to Hell...whatever that is." Terran linguistic expressions were something of a hobby of hers, but the Terran religions absolutely baffled her.

She looked out the window to the sea of lights of the Ciudad de Mexico, and finally answered his question, whispering, "No man...not from around here...at least, not for awhile, anyway."

A disembodied voice said, "o.k., that was really lots of fun. Somewhat botched up, but fun, nonetheless."

"Yeah...definitely didn’t go well," XaXa* chuckled.

"You going to fill me in here boss? I don’t get much of a view from up here," the voice said.

"Well yeah...," she sighed in resignation. "They tagged me downtown, in the Pink Zone. I’m not quite sure how yet. It sure isn’t like I found them."

"Oh, we’re not sure? You were waving your tail in the wind down there like a first day tracking student. Might not be all bad though. They just might be convinced you really are that stupid."

"Oh, thank you, thank you, my dear disembodied paragon. Well, at least it wasn’t a wild goose chase."

"Hey honey", the voice said "I finally found out what that is––what a goose is."

XaXa* smiled, "really, you did? Okay, such an odd expression. Tell me later."

Back to business, she said. "They’re using some kind of jelly simulacra this time. Weird goo. I don’t think I killed any of them. I’m not so sure––my little helper here just might have.

"Yeah," the voice said, "they’re a construct, a golem. I took one apart earlier in the day here. Found it dehydrating in the desert North of that mud slide they call the Rio. The thing is mostly just a food grade starch and water. Stuff you could find on the planet. The operator is a nasty little machine in the abdomen. They wouldn’t fool anyone in the daylight. Probably scares the hell out of everybody though. Somebody is controlling these things but they’re using high speed pulse transceivers. I got a fix on the translator. The thing’s just a geosynchronous translator floating over the Yucatan. The feed is somewhere else."

"You left it up?" XaXa* asked.

"Yeah. For the moment. I was thinking we might want to consider something mean and awful to do with it," Betty* said. She paused and then asked, "Who’s your friend here?"

"You know, I really don’t know yet," XaXa* said with renewed interest. "He was in the restaurant and I thought he got killed in the explosion. When the ghoulies moved in, he was fighting them before I got to the street." XaXa* looked over at the rapidly cooling body in the other seat with mingled irritation and, a perverse combination of respect and delight.

"You know, I saw him actually take out four of those things. He fought like.... Oh, you remember the old Terran Kshatriyas...Indian subcontinent...the time before last, when we were here. Yeah, that’s what he reminded me of. God, he can fight...good technique. He figured out the abdomen bit...ripped out the control units. I sure didn’t get it. Doesn’t let fear control his moves."

Betty* was quiet for a second. "This Terran took down a Harvester spook...by himself?"

"He took out four that I saw."

Betty* was quiet for a second, and then said, "surprise! surprise. I always thought this civilization was rated too low."

"Never happen," XaXa* said. "It was a gift they got qualified as a sentient life form by the last survey."

"Oh, come now, that was back in their Pleistocene. A lot can happen in a couple million years."

This was an old conversation. It had been going on for years. Betty* was convinced that Earth was an ancient colony of some civilization or other. There were people back in the Empire who thought they themselves were part of such a trail. XaXa* found this "little green man" theory just too fantastic and unscientific. But it was a fun argument. Counting passing stars gets boring after awhile.

"Well, he may have family around here. I’ll just drop the body off over in the Bosque Chapultapec," Betty* said.

"No!..." XaXa* shook her head. He didn’t know me and he fought by my side. He probably thought he was fighting to help me even the odds. I might have been anyone. He didn’t know me. He just came to the aid of a neighbor attacked in a city street. What do they say about walking ducks here?...Anyway he fought at the side of an Imperial Magistrate".

Betty sighed, "Oh XaXa." You know that’s very romantic and all...."

There was a pause and XaXa* could almost hear the arching of an electronic eyebrow. Then Betty* added, "Yeah, no I got it now. Lets see, that one goes:‘walks like a duck, quacks like a duck...so it must be a duck....’ So sure, he fought like an Imperial. And so now the Magister thinks we should sponsor him as a Citizen Candidate."

Betty* was quiet for a moment; then thoughtful. "Uh uh, XaXa*, this just isn’t a really good idea. As a matter of Imperial law he is a just a Terran Native, and from a Protected Stellar Enclave. He’s not a real Citizen. You are the Sworn Park Service Ranger for this Sector, and supposed to keep his kind from contamination. Now he might be a real nice guy and maybe even good at some other things you’d like, he’s a Wilderness indigent and shouldn’t know anything more about this––probably wouldn’t really want to. He’s also quite dead, and we should be allowing him on to his next Gate. You’re going to get this very complicated when it doesn’t need to be. And, don’t give me the bit about, how we need to collect more information. These people can barely get themselves out to their own satellite. If this sector weren’t an Imperial Reservation they’d have killed themselves off ten thousand years ago.

Earth males are just high maintenance toys. It’s going to be just like that Conquistador last time. You’ll just get bored. Then I’ll have to wipe his brain and find him another home."

XaXa* smiled stubbornly. The Spanish Don had been something of a pain. He’d been certain he’d found something called ‘El Dorado’, and had tried to take over what he thought was the throne room. It had taken weeks to clean up the bathroom suite.

"Oh c’mon, Betty*, we haven’t had a guest on-ship for a long time. You can practice on that new Merican English.

"Yeah right, and you will practice...? And there went the other eyebrow. "I’ve got a bad feeling about this, Magister".