The War For Mobius - Part 3 Peace and War • • • by Scott Kelly "It's a cry! It's a cry for survival!! A cry for survival! For their survival—and for our survival..." - from Impact, by Orbital So great was the spectacle on the morning when a line of mammals stretched three times across the city to mourn King Acorn's death that not even the lowliest citizen could keep a tear from the eye. An endless stretch of black wound through the streets and shuffled along in total silence to where the procession ended in front of the Mobian Senate-House. There, on the front steps, surrounded by Royal Guards, sat a meter-square box of gold, in which rested the bones of the late King. In silence broken only by sobs or awkward coughs, mammals stepped meekly forward and placed flowers, money, jewelry, pictures, and letters on the steps around the box. The offerings seemed never to end. As one Guard watched out of the corner of his eye, an old lady with a red, tired face, stepped up to the pile and placed a small heart-shaped box on the ground. The Guard bit his lip and felt tears coming. A pall of grief and disbelief hung over the entire city that day. Nature had even called a fog in from the Leper Plains, which made the weather match the mood of the Mobians. Only one soul was free from grief, and that soul was at the moment under dozens of cc's of medication, passed out in a medical clinic with a broken leg and first-degree burns. The newly-crowned Queen of Mobius, a tall and hunched figure in the clinic atrium, was surrounded by Guardsmammals who kept the small crowd of well-meaning citizens away from the grieving Queen. She had been sitting there staring at the floor. She hadn't been able to bear watching technicians pump sedatives into her husband and stare at him as if he were some cell under a microscope. She had been choking back tears for several minutes now. She looked up into the faces of her people for consolation. They all stood away from her, wanting to comfort her but held back by the Guards. These citizens all meant no harm, she thought. With a clearing of her throat, she choked out, "Let them pass." The Guards, a little surprised, still stood back without a word, and the crowd flowed forth to help their Queen. One squirrel, veiled in black, who looked very much like herself pushed through the crowd and faced the sorrowful Queen. She placed a single rose into Her Majesty's palm. "I know how you feel." The squirrel's eyes pierced the Queen's and on each other's shoulders they sobbed together. The rest of the crowd stepped back. In King Acorn's clinic room, a chipmunk named Rosie, the newly appointed Royal Nurse, held the two day-old Princess Acorn in her arms. The Princess was sleeping, in fact she had spent most of her life sleeping so far. The doctors said she was perfectly healthy, and that she would live to grow up to be a stately and proud princess, but still the Queen feared for her safety. The entire Royal family, it seemed, was wracked with distress and fear. Rosie hoped it wouldn't last. On the other side of the thick glass window lay the King, whose sanity was more in danger than his life. His breathing, controlled by the medication, was deep and regular. He rested in a fitful dreamless sleep, while a city and a planet began to fall apart. • • • The bunks on the spaceship Relentless were always spotless, kept that way by the maintenance droids which patrolled the dorm wings day and night. They often intruded into rooms without knocking or anything, and it was the clinking of a droid rearranging his picture frames that woke up Second Lieutenant Elias Glavian. He waved sleepily at the droid for it to go away, even though the room was a total mess, Glavian thought it could wait. He shared a room with First Lieutenant Timothy Anthalay. He was a tall, imposing sort of human, with a stretched-out face and deep, dark eyes in dark sockets. Everyone on board thought Anthalay was a level-headed and friendly person, and this was why he was a member of the consulting war staff on the ship. Anthalay was rarely in, usually out at some meeting or another, but for this morning, he had chosen to sleep in after the first battle with the aliens. Glavian was tired too, and so on their stacked bunks they stayed. Glavian didn't know how late it was, but he was glad for the break from insanely boring field runs to do dumb geological things like record air composition and ozone layer data. He was toying with the thought of going back to sleep when Anthalay spoke from below. "You think we'll attack again today?" Glavian sat up and rubbed his eyes, as if this would give him some clarity on the issue. "Well, the one yesterday wasn't much of anything at all. I don't even think we lost anyone. I'll bet you everyone wants more war; I know I am." A pause went by, during which a thought came to Glavian. "You think this was how they did war in the old days?" Anthalay's voice was edged with doubt. "I don't really know. You'd have to ask Lilimoor; he's got some of the old books in his study. People like Bonaparte, MacArthur, Caesar, Lee, you know." Glavian didn't know. "If Lilimoor was leader of this group, we'd be living in those alien's houses by now, warming ourselves by flaming bodies an' stuff. Instead," he added bitterly, "we've got that chump Vosper for a captain. He thinks we should give those aliens time to see what they're up against." Anthalay's response was quick. "You know, I really don't think that Vosper's got the spine to be a decent leader." Glavian was about to reply automatically when he realized what his mate had just said. He popped his head over the side of the bed and looked at Anthalay's calm upside-down face. "Hey, you really think so?" • • • Captain Gregory Vosper at the moment wasn't worried about what other people thought of him. In fact, he wasn't worried about much of anything at all. He never looked back at the bulky Relentless as he walked away from his ship and into the surrounding woods. With the insistence of his officers, he had taken a small sidearm along, but he didn't feel a shred of guilt when he undid it from his waist and left it at the foot of a tree. He walked on through the woods unencumbered, watching the sun fade in and out above the treetops. The floor underneath him was a little rocky, but he moved along sprightly as if he were born to hike. What an odd planet this was! They kept so much of their forests around, they seemed useless... but very pretty. In fact, as he walked along, with the sounds of nature surrounding him and the wind dancing warmly through the tree trunks, Vosper felt suddenly as if a piece of him which had been long missing were suddenly put in place. He felt keenly in touch with his surroundings, with the green expanse of leaves and boughs which wrapped him in its embrace, and he walked on in total bliss, towards the heart of the Great Forest. He forgot all about his schedules and his plans of war and he was left with no cares or worries, a happy soul drifting through the woods. He thought about the forest as he walked, and how he had been taken to a forest conservatory as a child, shown the great towering behemoths of green flesh and brown skin. They seemed so distant and alien to his little eyes. This time was different. Now he felt almost at home. He walked all afternoon, stopping to sip crystal cold water from a stream among twisting pine and oak trees, and he even put his hand underwater and felt the moss latched to the rocks with the wonder of a little kid. He lost all sense of time, so he never knew how long it was before he was walking along a valley, admiring some blue and red birds high above, when he stumbled and fell down a charred crater, stopping a couple feet away from the charred wreck of a spaceship. • • • The King was just getting over the effects of the pain-killing drugs when he noticed a white-coated doctor show a mammal into the room. He looked closer and the familiar face came back to him. It was Chakiver Hedgehog, the esteemed mammal who led the Royal Scientific Board. This was the first time he'd met him face-to-face, but he tried not to show it as Chuck stopped at the foot of the bed and genuflected. "Your Majesty." "Please. Sit." The King gestured to the metal chairs for the visitors which sat by his bed. Chuck sat down and opened a dossier in his hand, clearing his throat. "Of course, if Your Majesty is not feeling in a temperate mood, I can—" "Tell me. Does it have to do with the... accident?" Chuck didn't answer, looking down at the papers in his hand. He licked his lips and told the King the statistics of the damage of the unexpected attack: thirty-one dead, including a decorated Royal Guardmammal, seventy-two injured, counting His Majesty, and thirty six of those injuries were life-threatening. The convention hall and Police building had been demolished, and the cost of labor for restoration would be about thirty thousand Mobiads. "Materials are free, is that correct?" "Yes, sir." Chuck was patient with the brand new and half-awake king. "The citizens are required to work free of charge to provide materials for government work." "Have the Police facilities been relocated?" "Yes, the Police are running their operations out of a vacant storefront." His Majesty frowned. "Unacceptable. A more suitable place will be found soon for them." "Understood, Your Majesty. And"—Chuck looked at the floor—"something will have to be done about the injuries. Many of them are severe, possibly fatal, sir. The Medical Clinic is understaffed and full to capacity, and the remaining causalities are being put in the Clinic atrium." "Mmmmmm, they'll only get worse, if I know what we've got on our hands. It's a war. We're at war," he repeated, his eyes glazing. "Your Majesty, we don't even know what kind of aggressors these are yet." "Well, do we have any captured?" Chuck looked at the papers and saw a line which raised an eyebrow, which from Chuck was quite a feat. "Actually, sir we do have one captured. It was the... pilot of the craft which killed your father." The King said nothing. His eyes began to glimmer, and he turned away from his advisor, feeling suddenly weak and pitiful. "Go," he said thickly. "Excused." Chuck left the room as hot tears began to splash over the King's eyelids. He leaned against the wall outside and realized that at the moment, the King wouldn't be in his right mind for some time. Chuck would have to make his own decisions in the meantime. The idea was there in a flash. His mind recalled a set of plans which were stuffed in the back of his files drawer in his laboratory. He remembered drawing them up two or three cycles ago, but the idea never quite worked, and if it did, government approval would have been nearly impossible. With fresh determination, he set off at once to go and find them. Who knows, he thought, his old idea might be the saving of the city. • • • The Mobians were never a very violent race, and for this reason the jail in the city was small, equipped with only about fifteen cells, each one locked by a wheel at the far end of the corridor. By this wheel was the desk of the warden, an old badger with powerful arms named Spree. At the moment, Spree was half-asleep at his post, and the only occupant of the entire jail was under constant armed watch at the far end of the row of cells, and he was wide awake. Corporal Wilson Naber was feeling numb. He didn't ask for this, being the only prisoner of war in the entire battle, the scapegoat for his entire race of people. He even felt embarrassed, being shot down by a race as wimpy as this, a bunch of people who had nothing better to do than pick flowers and throw big parties. He bailed out as soon as his landsurfer began its final plunge, but even so, he thought that he had killed someone with it. Someone pretty important too, he suspected, from the way the guards looked at him all the time, with a kind of quiet rage. He was staring at a spot of mildew on the wall when the door of his cell swung open. He leapt to his feet, only to be pushed back down by a wolf who had stepped inside. "Stay where you are," it snarled. The visitor took up an imperious stance in front of Naber and glared down at him. Most aliens on this planet were only about five feet tall, but this one came close to his own height. The alien took a deep breath. "My name is General Richa. I am—" "You speak English!" The realization hit Naber like a thunderbolt, and he scrambled to his feet again in amazement. "Did you read my mind or something? I mean, that you... speak English... or whatever..." he ended weakly. Richa was a little amazed himself, but managed to keep his emotion away from his stern face. "Well, all the better for you then. Your interrogation should go much more easily now." Naber felt a cold feeling begin to spread from the pit of his stomach. He sat down again and stared pointedly into space. He hadn't been trained for this, no one had... "Now look here. We just want to ask a couple simple questions of you, and that'll be all." Friendliness began to seep into Richa's voice. Naber began to feel sick, but he managed to nod. "Good. First, understand that you are a prisoner of war, and may see the other side of this wall sooner or later. The first step towards your release is that you reply to all of our questions truthfully and promptly." Naber was silent, so he went on. "Who are you and where do you come from?" Naber scraped up an answer from the scattered facts in his mind. "We're... human beings... homo sapiens from the planet Earth. Our planet is on the other side of the sun, and we found your planet from a satellite which crashed here." Richa scribbled a few short phrases on a pad of paper. "And your army's size...?" "I dunno... a thousand maybe..." Scribble, scribble. "I see. And just why did you decide to wage war upon our planet?" Naber grasped for an answer, but he found nothing there. He had been called into service from his job as a border spy, given a hasty month of training, and shipped to this planet to fight. He didn't know why. Suddenly, he realized he was very mad. Here was the leader of the enemy, sitting across from him asking him questions, and he was answering like a goddam robot! He looked up into Richa's eyes. "Why did we start a war...? This is why...." The remark got Richa by surprise, and Naber seized the moment, lunged from his bed, and knocked Richa from his seat. Richa's pistol, a sleek silver and gray model, went skittering across the floor. Naber rolled off of the general and grabbed it just as the guards outside the cell trained their own weapons on him. He was boxed into the corner of his cell, backed up against the bars with the guards' guns at his left, and the giant vulpine general to his right. He looked from one to the other for a long moment. You could have heard a pin drop in the next cell. Corporal Naber, as he looked around with darting eyes, felt a boost overtake him, and the adrenaline flooded his system, cleared his eyes, unfogged his brain, and made his body quick and lean. He looked with a crafty glance at the guards and their fumbling fingers, and the general who knelt cautiously in the middle of the cell. They were his enemies. This was his war. He saw it all very clearly now, and with a flood of joy which heightened his senses, Naber all of a sudden realized that this was what war was all about. He grinned savagely In the end, he didn't need any training. He knew what to do. He lodged his toe in the corner of the cell and, with a deft push, lunged across the room. The guards' fingers finally found the triggers, but they were too late. Their shots pierced the wall where he had been a second before, and the sound of crumbling brick was drowned out by a sudden yell. General Richa's body hit the floor hard and lay crumpled. Naber knelt next to the dead general, his eyes shining like the morning sun. Before the guards had a chance to take a step towards him, Naber turned the shining muzzle of the gun into his own mouth, and jerked the trigger. • • • Vosper got up slowly, carefully, as if the spaceship was getting ready to pounce on him. He took a small step back, then caught himself and stepped closer. The ship was dull and streaked with black, and half of it seemed buried beneath the ground. The protruding half was disc-shaped, with a set of three bulbous pods near the edge, facing the ground. Beneath charred streaks on the hull of the ship, he could make out some writing. He traced them with his finger just to reassure himself that they weren't any letters he knew. He realized suddenly that his face was covered in sweat. Neo-Pangaeic, he grasped after a panicked moment. That looks just like Neo-Pangaeic. Of course Neo-Pangaeia would've sent up a ship before us, the greedy slobs. Even as his mind grasped at straws, he realized this wasn't an Earth spaceship. The metal was dull and flaked away under his hand. No sensible country would make a ship out of this stuff. He was just thinking this, and was just about to turn around and go back to the ship, when there was a sudden crunch of leaves, and a voice, "Get away from that!" Vosper jumped back and tripped over a large branch. A sudden wave of dizziness swept over him. He looked around him wildly and saw a shape flutter among the leaves. The shape seemed to gain color and form before his eyes, and standing on the edge of the crater all of a sudden was a vixen, tall, slender, with fire-red fur and deep green eyes. There seemed to be little sparkling flecks among the green, and Vosper's own eyes began to water staring at them. "Hello," the vixen said casually. She looked straight into Vosper's eyes with those green-flecked orbs, and he felt his nerve go. He looked instead at the top of her head, at the twisted mop of black hair. She wouldn't see the difference anyway. "If you're going to spend your time figuring out ways to avoid my eyes, I might as well leave." She put her hands on her hips, making the bracelets on her right wrist tinkle lightly. "I thought you'd be more receptive to what I have to say." Vosper practically choked on the phrase, "Who—are you?" "You were wondering about that spaceship?" the vixen said casually, flicking a hand at it. "Don't waste your breath, I know you were." The vixen seemed almost bored with him, because she sighed and brushed some hair away from her face before going on. "That ship is not from Earth, or any planet you know. It's from a planet called Ferroon, and a Ferronese craft crash-landed here two of your years ago. Out of the fifteen-mammal crew, only four survived. These four realized the only way to keep their species alive was to create hybrids with the natives, and so they mingled with the population of that city outside the forest. The mammals born to the Ferronese had the outward appearance of Mobians, but they still kept the unique powers of their ancestors." Vosper felt a tightness begin to build in his gut, and he started trying to find the path he came from. The vixen had him cornered at the foot of a crater, and when he felt the familiar spot at his waist, he knew his gun was not there. The vixen smiled at Vosper the smirk of thinly disguised hate. "The Ferronese were enlightened as to their past and their potential by their elders, and they began to discover the full potential of their selves. Unfortunately, this was followed by rejection from the Mobians. The Ferronese were an isolated society, so the exile from the city left deep scars upon our souls. The Ferronese population was turned out of the city and forced to live on the Leper Plains." At the accidental "our," Vosper knew what he was up against. He took the pause in the speech and tried to find something to fill it with. What his mind came up with was a weak-sounding, "What do you want?" "Revenge," the vixen stretched an arm into the air, and there was a gun in her hand, Vosper's gun. "We've been turned away, spit out by these shallow-minded Mobians. We've realized, we're different. We're separate. And that's something that we'll never forgive you for." Captain Vosper moved. With a quick step to the left, he found a jagged protrusion on the side of the craft, the remains of a fin, and fell behind it. A bolt split the air behind him, and cinders bounced off the side of the craft, stinging the back of his neck. "How do you feel now, high-and-mighty leader? Do you miss the guns you hide behind?" An eerie laugh followed and another shot punched the leafy ground beside him. Vosper pounded the side of the ship and fired off a string of curses. Why had he been so dumb as to go walking without his sidearm? Did he think the strange forest would let him through its depths without a scratch? His mind began to fumble for answers in desperation. He finally came upon one faint ray of hope, and grasped at it. On the instant, he dashed from behind the ship, matted-down leaves and dirt flying behind him as he scrabbled up the crater and over the lip. He had both feet on the rim of the crater, and was about to start dodging and weaving his way into the forest, when he realized that he wasn't being shot at. He turned for a moment only and looked over his shoulder. The vixen was still there, her gun was trained on Vosper's face. There was a moment of crackling tension, then with even greater abandon, he ran. The fluting laughter of the vixen rang in his ears like the song of a bird. • • • A fire was burning, but it was freezing cold in Chuck's study in the Mobian Medical Research Center. He hadn't been in here for almost a cycle, but he thanked the powers that be that they hadn't rented out the room yet. Kicking aside boxes full of texts and electronics, he found the ancient filing cabinet. He tugged on the handle and with a squeak and an eruption of dust, the drawer slid open. There were only three folders in the entire drawer, slim ones marked RET PROJECT 03.13.11, BOARD NOTES, and NOTES. He open the NOTES folder and saw the familiar eleven-page packet, the one he'd spent most of his time at the Center putting together. He pulled it out and read the heading on the first page. Even just seeing the name that he'd worked so hard on creating and fulfilling for so many cycles, it brought back memories of the invention that almost cost him his career. He remembered the battle to put it into effect, the debate over whether or not his invention violated the Mammal Basic Freedoms Contract, the brief struggle with charges of royal treason, and then the final bitter rejection from the King himself. The name of this ill-fated project was printed in bold, serious letters on the front page, and read: SEMI-AUTONOMOUS REHABILITATION AND THERAPY DEVICE—"ROBOTICIZER" • • • An hour later, Vosper guessed, he arrived back at the Relentless. His lungs felt torn apart, his eyes watered from pain and panic, and most of all, a new idea had been implanted in his mind. He knew what it was like to be on the other side of the gun. Checking into the ship again, he placed his dirt-smeared face in the grid, and heard the recording start up: "Welcome back, General. We're glad that you—" "The hell have you been, Vosper?" Lieutenant Lilimoor's voice cut the recording short. "Get up on deck now, there's been a serious development." The bridge was unusually calm when Vosper stepped onto it. This was because there were no people there, other than Max Lilimoor, the planetside ship captain, and an aide, who sat at the radio desk, with headphones pressed tight over his ears. The silence seemed worse than noise ever could have as Vosper walked up to Lilimoor. Lilimoor didn't salute or wait for Vosper to speak, he just nodded to the aide, who took off his headphones and opened the main speakers. Static crackled throughout the room, followed by a reedy voice. "This is Jade Unit four-dash-two, to all Jade units. Calling all Jades." "Jade One here, repeat this is Jade Leader. Go ahead, scout." "I've found the ship, about 1.5 kilometers southwest of base. Based in an artificial clearing next to Wavering Creek. No exterior markings, hull apertures of any kind. A large seam up front may indicate the command area." "How close did you get, Jade four-dash-two?" "I stayed outside the clearing, in case they have heat sensors. Ship is doubtlessly alien in origin." "Copy that, Jade unit. This is Jade Leader to all Jade units, listen up. We have a condition Yellow 32, that's Yellow three-two. We've located the alien craft, and will meet at sunset tonight in Jade Command to plan our attack strategy. Repeat, back to base at sundown. Continue—" The recording was abruptly shut off, and Lilimoor turned to Vosper with a glint in his eye. Both of them knew the drama of the moment. "Alea iacta est." Lilimoor said gravely, and let a moment go by before translating, "...the dice have been cast," he said, repeating the words of his role model, Julius Caesar. Now that there was a move from the other side, he felt, the true chance to let his skill shine would come. He'd be the first in a new line of great generals, he imagined. Lilimoor knew when the time came, he would be the new Caesar. Delusions floated through Lilimoor's head: he pictured troop movements in the forest. They'd come up following the creek, and an offset attack from one side would put the aliens in perfect position for a side attack, driving them into the clearing and into the Relentless' firepower. Utter defeat, followed by the announcement of surrender terms. These plans were fading from Lilimoor's head when he realized that quite a few moments had gone by without Vosper speaking. His commander looked down at his own side, for some reason, and Lilimoor saw that his sidearm was missing. He also realized for the first time that Vosper's face was dirt-covered and his uniform was charred. He was toying with the notion of sounding stupid and asking the obvious question when Vosper spoke. "This... is not acceptable. I've come to realize something now... I don't think our men have the ability for hand to hand combat. We—hide behind our guns," he whispered, and with the phrase, he remembered the sparkling green eyes of the vixen, and he shivered. "There must be peace." He looked up and registered shock in Lilimoor's eyes. "Sir... are you all right?" Lilimoor asked awkwardly. A second went by before Vosper's voice came back. It had gained a sudden edge. "In what way am I 'all right'?" Lilimoor realized how else his question could be taken, and knew he had made a fatal error. He covered for himself clumsily, "Well, sir, the dirt on your, you know, face, and it seems your gun is missing, and I thought that well... that is..." Vosper turned quickly, towards the quarters. "Give me fifteen minutes to change. Get yourself ready and gather up some other men. We're going in to negotiate." Captain Vosper walked into his room boldly, confident that he was doing the right thing. Lilimoor stared at the closing door for a moment, then had a vision of himself in a toga, at an ancient desk, writing the words of Caesar on a scroll, omnia Gallia divisa est in partes tres... He dented the console with his foot and swore silently. • • • Vosper, his uniform fresh and clean but his face still dirty, led Lilimoor and his twelve advisors into the open. The plain between the forest and the alien city was lit with the hazy glow of late afternoon and made it seem almost peaceful. He found a rock, the biggest one on the field, clambered on top of it and waved the large white flag in the air. Lilimoor didn't even want to look up at the scene in front of him. He thought white was a boring color anyway. In a few minutes, there was an opening of the gates, about ninety yards away, and a few dozen soldiers in dark green protective gear came marching haphazardly out. One group stayed at the gates and another marched towards them. Vosper hoped these weren't troops that shot first and asked questions later, so he waved his flag more fervently. The troops didn't seem to have any leader, so when they got close enough to speak, they all sort of stood there awkwardly. Most had guns drawn. It was Vosper who broke the tension by saying, "Greetings. We come in the spirit... uh... of peace." He began to feel hot fluid rise into his cheeks. "We wish to strive for a peace... a peace..." He repeated, as if he were talking to a small child. To emphasize, he spread his arms wide to show his harmlessness and gave a big grin. Several of the green troops let the weapons fall numbly from their hands. One of them choked out, "You.. you want peace?" Vosper mind reeled. "You speak our language?!" He sprang at the nearest creature and stared into its large brown eyes. "Then you understand what I'm saying? That we want a peace?" "Well, yes," the one in front of Vosper said awkwardly. There was a pause as the two sides looked at each other with new eyes. "If we speak the same language, then it must be the will of the gods that it is so. You want peace? Then," The front alien extended an open palm. "we greet you as friends." Vosper grasped the alien's hand and shook it, both implying by the gesture that their hands were free of weapons, an ancient custom of both races. Vosper felt like a photographer should be here, snapping digimages of the momentous event. Lilimoor and the rest were feeling an entirely different sentiment. • • • News got around quickly on the three ships, and soon every man knew about the sudden turnaround even before Vosper and the delegates from the Earth ships had left. A firestorm of resentment and frustration swept through the ranks of the men, and in the mess hall of the Relentless, most of the crew was gathered. They sat in a dozen groups, each one discussing the event with hatred. "You call this war, eh?" cried one solider. "We go off, fight a battle between breakfast and lunch, kill only a couple score of enemies, and then we sue for peace?" "It's all a big crock," said another. "We came all this way, spent all this money, wasted all the manpower, just so we could make peace with another race? We came to fight, to show our dominance over the universe!" Anthalay was listening to the two soldiers, and threw in his own comment. "Lilimoor went along with Vosper peacefully, or so I heard. He's got a head on his shoulders, if he went along with it, it must have been a reasonable request." "Don't listen to that," the second soldier spat back." Lilimoor went because he had no choice! To disobey would have been mutiny, a disgrace, the end of Lilimoor's tenure! He's just like the rest of us! We're all like cattle underneath this Vosper's whip, and we need to break free!" Anthalay looked the mutinous soldier over. He'd never seen this man before. His figure was short and slim, and he had an almost womanish look about him. He had a very gaunt face with bright eyes, and his hair was fire-red. He stood facing the other soldier with hatred written all over his face. "Don't you see what I mean?" the short one pleaded. "We've been wronged by the Captain, and so have all those back on Earth, our families and friends. Vosper has let them down. Are we about to let them down too?" The soldiers around Anthalay murmured in assent, and he saw the blood rise into many of their faces. He remembered suddenly the time that Lilimoor had once told Anthalay about an evil leader named Hitler, who had used his gift for fancy talk to stir up resentment among the people. Anthalay hoped Hitler was the only one of his kind. The short soldier was speaking again. "This is not what we came here for, gentlemen. We have a duty to our country to rid the universe of these malignant aliens once and for all. Are we going to let them live on and fester like a cancer on Earth's body?" More and more people were turning their heads to listen to the fiery young soldier, and he realized this. "In sitting here, doing nothing, we're forgetting every last man, woman, and child on Earth, who expect to see this mission FOLLOWED THROUGH!!! Something must be done," he proclaimed to the entire hall, smacking his fist into his open palm. "What is the only course of action left to us?" The response from the hall was one and the same, and the word, when shouted, shook the very frame of the ship. "WAR!!!!!" • • • "Peace!" said Vosper simply. "We came here to bargain for peace!" He was speaking to the little brown-furred alien with the crown on his head. "I, as my army's leader, have come to recognize the futility of this war, and we want it to end." "Thank Chaos that it had hardly even started," replied the alien with a sigh. On his throne in the great hall with the vaulted ceiling made of polished chaos stone, the leader sat heavily, as if he were under some tremendous physical exertion. "Your first strike... was entirely unexpected," it continued, not wanting it to sound like a compliment. "You demolished several government buildings and killed over thirty of our citizens... including my father, the King." Simply saying the phrase made him slump lower in his seat. The King wanted nothing better at that moment than to be back in the hospital, asleep, with the drugs flowing through his body again. "Sir." Vosper bowed his head. "Words cannot express my grief. This is why we've come to end the bloodshed. We don't want any pain or grief given to any side anymore." "I understand your sentiment. I regret to say that the one who killed my father with his plane chose to take his own life in jail." Vosper reeled, feeling the sudden shock of his first actual casualty. He wanted nothing better at that moment than to be back in his bed, on Earth, with nothing to worry about. This only made him more determined to make peace. The King took the initiative, and stood shakily. Several aides were under each arm in a moment, helping the King to a gravichair. "Come with me, you and your friends," said the King. "It is time to end this war, before it even begins." • • • The humans was led in silence down the main street of Mobotropolis, a busy avenue paved with dirt and dust kicked up by the Mobians who shuffled along it conducting business transactions, talking, and shopping. As Vosper watched them, their lives seemed to him oddly quaint. This city wasn't so bad after all, he thought, looking up at the sleek curves and mirrored faces of high rise buildings in the city's business district. The men behind him were still in a bad mood, especially without their sidearms. Leading the little delegation of Mobian leaders was the King, whose stern face and solid eyes gave no emotion away as his chair whirred down the street. The building they stopped at was a low, broad one, the original convention hall which dated from the founding of Mobotropolis. A small plaque next to the door proclaimed the building's antiquity, but the humans and Mobians all ignored the past, instead they needed to concentrate on the future. Inside the cavernous wood-floored hall, the delegations picked a large round table which seated thirty and sat around it in two awkward semicircles. The King was the first to speak. "If we're to carry out sensible negotiations, we should first, uh, get to know each other, as it is. So we would like to know a little bit about who you are and where you come from. One of our generals got some information from the prisoner who committed suicide, but not to our satisfaction. We simply want to know you." With forced politeness, Lilimoor spoke first. "We are human beings from the planet Earth. We have lived and thrived there for many, many millions of years, and have turned our society into an industrial utopia where we created these weapons of war. The human race has been long-skilled in the art of war, we—" "To put it simply," Vosper cut in, "We are beings from the planet in the sky, near your sun." The King nodded shortly. "Our civilization is the Mobian civilization. We have been in existence since the beginning of time, we know not how long. We come in many species and sizes, and intelligences, but our planet has thrived under careful leadership and cooperation. Our society's pursuits are those of knowledge, science, and peace," emphasizing the last word. Chuck, at the King's left hand, spoke up with the question on everyone's mind. "The only thing we wish to know for the time being is why you came out so far, spent such time and power on attacking our civilization, when we have done nothing to provoke or aggravate you?" "We..." Lilimoor began haughtily, then stopped, realizing he didn't have an answer. Even Vosper turned pale as he realized the same. There was a sickening silence, both sides staring at each other. It was suddenly broken by a sudden banging on the heavy door of the hall. The King sent his aide Thala across the hall to answer it. She was only a couple meters from the threshold when the banging increased to a desperate pounding, then there was a crash. Splinters and rivets came flying at Thala, who jumped back as the door came off its hinges and a body came crashing through. It took one or two wobbly steps, and fell forward on the floor. Though it was badly charred and broken, it was recognizable as a human body. Lilimoor and Vosper pushed their chairs over and dashed for the door. Thala came between the two, shouting, "No! Don't go out there, come down into the shelter! Into the shelter!!" Lilimoor, however, was long gone; he jumped over the lifeless body and into the street. Mobotropolis was burning. The smoke choked the entire street and made it impossible to see exactly what was happening. The orange flames that were visible in every direction made it clear, though, that the city was in flames. Lilimoor gaped at the scene, and barely had time to gather himself up before another shape came soaring through the smoky air and landed at Lilimoor's feet. The little soldier with the bright eyes was wearing the green captain's uniform now, and his face was alight with joy. "Sir, its good to see you're still alive! I'm surprised these creatures didn't finish you off right now! Our men are fighting the good fight now, eh, sir?" Through the crackle and crash of the inferno, bursts of blaster fire and the clash of steel on steel could be faintly heard. "You—" Lilimoor spoke and almost choked on the thick air. "You... who are you?" "The new Captain Jinn is here to help you sir!" We've come to finish this war once and for all! If you wish to come and help us win the war, we've saved a batch of prisoners especially for you..." Vosper came stumbling out of the door, coughing, crying out, "Lilimoor! Anyone, what the hell is going on?! Anybody!" "YOU!!" Captain Jinn snarled, pulling his gun from its side holster. "There's no need for you anymore!" Captain Vosper could barely see Jinn's small outline through the billowing smoke, so when Jinn gave one leap through the smoke towards him and fired, he could only stand frozen with terror. When the blast of white-hot ionized energy came speeding towards his face, he never had time to move out of the way. Which was just as well, because the shot vanished. Several inches, even less, from Vosper's head, it simply disintegrated. Then, as if by a sudden wind, the smoke was pushed down the main street and faded away like a sudden spring shower. The fire was gone, and judging from the pristine condition of the buildings, it had never been there in the first place. The people on the street were still there, and from the looks on their faces, seconds ago they must have been ready to die. Now the city was peaceful and clean, and the newest dice in the game of war had just been cast. Lilimoor came to Vosper's side, as the Captain knees gave away underneath him. "Sir? Are you... all right, Captain?" Vosper's heart was thudding, and he felt alternate cold and hot flashes in his panic. "Yeah, I'm OK... now." He looked around for Captain Jinn. "That soldier..." Something little was nagging at him about the soldier who disappeared. Not the fact that he had tried to kill him, but something about him. He couldn't quite pin it down. "Captain Jinn, Sir?" "Yes, his name... if we could, maybe, get back in the hall. Uhhh... I think I can continue the negotiations." "Only at your convenience, Captain," said the King from the doorway. He was looking none too calm himself; his gravichair wobbled as his hand trembled on the controls. Vosper's voice began to shake. "And yours, Your Majesty. I think the negotiations would best be continued in a more fortified and secret location." "My feelings as well. In that case, you'll need to be blindfolded immediately, and we'll leave for the Royal Court." • • • The men of the Relentless were huddled together in the brush outside the city. They had guns drawn, and many of them looked somewhat bewildered. Captain Jinn, in green fatigues, was at the head of the group. There was a long stupefying silence before someone near the back of the crowd spoke. "Sir, uh, sir," the voice came unsurely. "We did just attack the city, correct, uh, sir?" He trailed off as he realized what a dumb question it was. "Of course, you bloody idiot!" another called back. "I've got some chips in the chest plate right here. Looks like I let one of the little furballs get close to me, eh?" "Yes, yes, we did attack," Captain Jinn said. "Sad, though, very sad, indeed. Our heroic leaders have been taken hostage by the enemy, and we failed to liberate them... this time." "We did?" the same voice in the back piped up again. "Surely, yes," Jinn faced the men, half of whom wore a blank look on their faces. "We reached halfway into the city before a small artillery battery forced us to retreat. It was a sorry strategy, I'll admit that. Next time, though." "How many did we kill, you think, Capt'n?" a different voice chipped in. "A couple dozen, at the very least." Jinn looked up to face the men with those disturbingly bright eyes. "Why are you asking me all these questions? Surely you don't remember it all?" A very profound silence fell upon the army, each and every one. Even the birds seemed to stop singing overhead. Jinn made eye contact with every soldier, sending a message with his eyes. One soldier finally broke in with a hearty remark. "Well, gentlemen, I think we've made a big enough dent for one day, don't you? Back to the ship, I say, to rest up and take in some brandy!" A lusty cheer went up from the soldiers, and in a disorganized march, they all headed back to the ship. No one seemed to notice that one soldier stayed at the forest's edge: Captain Jinn. Those odd eyes glittered briefly in their sockets, and a breeze slipped through the tree trunks. Captain Jinn smiled briefly, and began to walk after the crowd of laughing men with a spring in his step. • • • The negotiations were now at a snail's pace. Inside the spacious Royal Court the delegates on both sides were beginning to rub their eyes and look hopefully at the door. Vosper and the Earth faction had no idea where they were, but from the musty smell and the slight pressure in his ears, Lilimoor figured they were deep underground. A couple hours had passed since they came into the city at gunpoint. Now the fate of the planet was being decided, and it was no job to be taken lightly. The conversation had shifted from the stories of each race to the origins of the war to the possible solutions that could be put into effect. A treaty was being outlined by a Mobian scribe who sat next to the King. After the scribe had two leaves full of notes, the King announced, "I think we've made enough progress for today. You'll be blindfolded and led to the city limits. We'll let you stay in your ship for the night, and in the morning—" "You don't presume to tell us—" Lilimoor sprang from his seat, but Vosper clamped down on his shoulder. "Your Majesty, we're all tired here, and some rest would help to calm us down, especially for my comrade here." Lilimoor squirmed away from Vosper and headed for the door. After the humans were blindfolded, an elevator took them up several dozen stories to the surface. The King and Vosper said goodbyes, Vosper smiling uneasily from underneath the blindfold. When they were outside the perimeter fence, the Royal Guardsmammals let the thirteen humans go without a word. Dusk was beginning to fall over the land, and in the fifteen minutes it took to reach the ship, the sky turned violet, and the stars were beginning to sparkle through the canopy of the Great Forest. Vosper and his eleven officers stepped into the clearing to find a patchwork of fires lit all around the ship, with six or seven men at each fire. The conversation was a dull murmur all around, until someone spoke up. "'Ey, look, they're back after all!" All noise stopped entirely. As Vosper faced over a hundred of his men, the only noise was the crackle of the fires. "You're late," a drunken voice called out. "I thought I told you to be back in time for dinner!" Guffaws erupted around the clearing. By the firelight, Vosper could see little shiny bottles in the hands of the soldiers, and he spoke automatically. "What's that you're drinking? I thought alcohol was expressly forbidden on this ship! No alcoholic substances or narcotics must be shipped off-planet without a waiver from..." The soldiers sniggered in reply. Vosper saw a soldier near him throw an empty bottle away. It smashed against a tree. He saw a movement out of the corner of his eye, and turned. All twelve of his delegates were inching across the clearing away from him. "Captain, if I may have a brief word with you," said a soldier in the middle of the clearing. The speaker stood up, a tall, well-built man. In the firelight, his face was angular and shadowy. The light glinted in his eyes as he added, "Over here... just for a second." With all eyes in the clearing on Vosper, he shuffled alongside the soldier to the edge of the forest. He felt the eyes of his men on his back. "Sir," the soldier addressed him. "I have reason to believe that you're no longer wanted among these ranks. I suggest you devise a plan to escape from these people now, because each one means death for you." For a moment, the words didn't sink in. Then Vosper felt suddenly sick. He hadn't wanted to think about murder, but now it was real fear that flooded his body. "What is your name, soldier?" "My name is Naber, but that's not important. What's important right now is that you find a way to leave here and get back to Earth, or seek asylum in the alien city. Your life hangs by a thread even as I'm speaking to you. See that fire over there, next to the ship? Your room, everything that was in it, is now there. There's not a thing you have left except your life. Go save that while you still can." "But... but I thought that we could make peace..." Vosper felt tears pricking at his eyes. "It all seemed so simple." "When a whole planet's against you, does it matter what you believe in? Nobody cares what you think, you're wrong, they're right, that's the long and short of it." "I see," said Vosper numbly. He rubbed his eyes with dirty hands. All he wanted to do was sleep. "Where do you think I should go to hide, friend?" "Seriously, Captain"—Vosper felt something press into his chest—"to hell." Vosper saw a change come over the soldier's face, a change to an expression of rage and killjoy. The light of the fires glinted in the soldier's eyes, and Vosper realized the eyes were the same eyes he'd seen in the face of Captain Jinn. In the face of the vixen. He looked down and saw the glitter of a long blaster muzzle against his chest, and barely had time to look up into those green-flecked eyes before a bolt of lightning ripped his stomach apart, and darkness flooded his eyes.