Anaz-Voohri (4 page)

The General drummed his fingers on the desk.
“Cadet?
I’m waiting for an explanation.”

Straightening her back, Tia looked him straight in the eyes. “This was a protest last summer in front of the Venezuelan Embassy in Washington, DC, sir.”

 
“And what are you doing among the demonstrators?”

 
“Permission to speak freely, sir.”

The General waved his assent. “Go ahead, Cadet. Something tells me you will anyway.”

 
“It was for a good cause, sir.
The re-election of President Chavez, sir.”

 
“Are you aware that the US Government disapproves of President Chavez?" The General cleared his throat. “Some say that the CIA may have orchestrated the missed coup against him.”

 
“That’s only a rumor, sir."

 
“Still, how could you, a cadet of West Point, participate in a public demonstration to support that rogue president?”

 
“President Chavez was legitimately elected by the people, sir. He is good for Venezuela, sir. He stands for the little people and gives them hope, sir.”

 
“I don’t give a fuck what President Chavez did for the little people of Venezuela. You are an American soldier, Cadet. Do you remember the oath you made on the parade grounds on your first day here?

 
“Yes, sir."
Shocked, Tia repeated the part of the oath he referred to. “I will maintain the sovereignty of the United States, paramount to any and all allegiance, sovereignty, or fealty I may owe to any state or country whatsoever.”

The General’s eyes narrowed. “And you dare dishonor this prestigious institution by demonstrating support for its enemies?”

The old man still didn’t get it. “With all due respect, sir, President Chavez is not our enemy, sir. And as far as I can tell, democracy is the highest American ideal, sir.”

 
“Stop being a smart ass, Vargas." The General shook his head. “You are too bright for your own good. What am I going to do with you?”

Was he really asking her? “Assign me to special forces in the Middle East, sir.”

 
“I know what you want, Cadet, but you better control that eagerness of yours. Getting you killed will not bring back your brother.”

The thought of her brother Felipe, fallen to Al-Qaeda in the Nine-Eleven Trade Center attack, constricted her throat, but Tia swallowed her grief and bit her lips.

 
“Your father would never forgive me if I sent you to the battlefield, Cadet. He already lost a son...”

Battling tears, Tia wouldn’t accept his argument. ”I still wish to apply after I graduate, sir.”

 
“Do not make me pull strings, Cadet. I can recommend you for an elite unit. Someone of your exceptional abilities is certainly a first choice for a new and very special branch."

 
“What branch of the military is that, sir?”

 
“It’s top secret." The General paused and went to the window, gazing outside. “I’m not at liberty to tell you anything, except that you will have the state of the art weaponry and experimental technology at your disposal to fight against the worst of evil.”

The worst of all evil had to be terrorist scum. Tia couldn’t refuse such an opportunity to get back at them. “Tell me more, sir.”

 
“It will require a lengthy specialized training, but you are only twenty years old, Cadet. First Airborne, then Army Rangers in Fort Clayton in Panama, followed by Special Forces at Fort Bragg, and Delta Force exercises.”

Even if it required more training, Tia wanted to become the absolute soldier, invincible, with the best weapons and tactical knowledge. “I accept your recommendation, sir."

 
“Duly noted, Cadet."
The General nodded.
“Dismissed.”

Tia saluted, and as she left the General’s office, she smiled. After she completed that special training, she would make Al-Qaeda pay dearly for her brother’s death.

Chapter Three

Anaz-voohri Fleet - Pleiades System

In her shimmering gown, Kavak reclined in her chair beneath the large dome of her private quarters. She couldn’t stand permanent watch on the science vessel. Unknown to the medical staff, however, she kept a constant scrutiny on the operating room from her personal view screen.

On the viewer, the surgeons in white robes and clear face masks measured and marked the head of one of the girls in preparation for surgery. The children, asleep or unconscious, lay on operating tables, arranged like the spokes of a wheel, feet toward the center,
heads
on the periphery, completely shaved. Kavak could hear the medics’ quiet conversations, the electronic chimes of the monitors and the whiz of the laser cutter.

The DNA modifications and brain inserts on the abducted girls were taking much longer than Kavak anticipated. The special abilities they needed to perform their future tasks required surgical implantation of miniaturized electronic devices. The medical staff kept complaining about the humans’ lack of resiliency. If they botched this batch, it would take time to find more subjects of this caliber. Besides, after the uproar of humanity following the abductions, it might become difficult to repeat an operation of this magnitude unimpeded.

On the screen, the surgeons delicately cut and removed the top part of the cranial bone, unveiling the girl’s brain. What a primitive brain, what fragile biological circuitry!

Kavak felt righteous spying on the medical staff. She’d never trusted scientists. She gazed at her hands, one of them lacking a thumb, a common defect among her people. Repeated cloning had weakened the Anaz-voohri gene pool, hence the frequent deformities. Kavak suspected the scientists often used that excuse to cover up for their mistakes and inadequacies.

Sipping a martini, Kavak turned away from the screen and swiveled her chair to gaze through the clear bulkhead at the multitude of ships constituting the Anaz-voohri fleet. When at rest in safe space, the three thousand vessels linked together to form a three-dimensional city.
A shame that there were so few inhabitants.
The Anaz-voohri had dwindled in numbers and dropped to a critical level, less than fifteen thousand, barely enough to operate the fleet, let alone build a new empire.

Not only had reproduction almost ceased due to cloning defects, but many warriors had died in the battles to win their freedom from their galactic masters. Now a free nation, the itinerant Anaz-voohri needed a base of operation to replenish their numbers and establish their own culture. Kavak had promised them the planet of their ancestors, and she would keep her word.

Kokopelli decorations adorned the domed ceiling, painted in soft purple and turquoise on the sand-colored metal skin of the ship. The frescoes evoked the legends of the ancient Anasazi. Who would be simple-minded enough to believe such stories and worship a hunched flute player as a fertility god?

The Anasazi ancestors might have been uneducated and gullible, but Kavak and her people had superior intelligence. The Anaz-voohri would make
their own
destiny through conquest. Kavak would take over Earth, not to fulfill the religious prophecy, although it helped gather the support of the religious cast, but because it offered the best logical habitat for the Anaz-voohri to thrive.

Kavak’s mind wandered to the glorious battles yet to come, when the Anaz-voohri would conquer the universe after replenishing their numbers. The surgeons’ conversation, however, intruded upon her reverie.

 
“Be careful with that nerve or the time trigger will shift,” said one.

 
“You are going too fast,” said another with alarm. “Watch out, we’re going to lose her!”

Kavak sat up in her chair at that last comment and stared at the view screen. The girl’s open brain pulsed wildly under the touch of minute instruments. The monitors next to the operating table flashed warning lights in a cacophony of beeps and muted sirens and chimes. Bunch of incompetent idiots!

 
“The heart stopped,” a surgeon exclaimed as the beeps flat-lined.

What had they done now? Pandemonium spread among the medical staff. The aids ran to and fro with supplies, one knocked down a pan of surgical tools. A surgeon stuck a long needle into the little girl’s heart in an attempt to restart it. But the girl’s body remained lifeless on the table.

The procedure failed? Kavak let out a cry of frustration. Scientists could be so unreliable.

The chief surgeon turned off the dead girl’s monitoring device, silencing the flat-line beep. “This subject was too weak." He moved the surgical cart toward the next shaved head around the circle of spokes. “Let’s start on this one.”

An assistant pulled the edge of the sand-colored sheet over the dead girl’s face. “I’ll call the shaman.”

The shaman?
Kavak wouldn’t tolerate religious mumbo-jumbo and certainly didn’t want it interfering with her most important project.

With a hiss of irritation, she set her martini on the floating tray and rose from the chair,
then
hovered out of her private quarters through the iris door that opened at her approach and closed after she had gone through. As she hurried along corridors with Anasazi markings on the bulkhead, Kavak wondered why she had to intervene, again. Couldn’t anyone do anything right without her supervision?

An attendant coming toward Kavak in the connecting passageway saluted as he walked by. Although all Anaz-voohri could hover and ascend on
their own
power, only the strongest could manage it for long periods of time.
Hovering as often as possible asserted Kavak’s authority.
She didn’t return the salute and hurried past the attendant without a glance. She hadn’t gained her command post through polite behavior but through ruthless aggression. Showing any kind of empathy would translate as weakness in the minds of her subordinates.

When she reached the vertical shaft, Kavak hovered inside then ascended to the level of the hatch communicating with the science vessel. Ducking into the hatch and through the passage between ships, Kavak hastened toward the surgical unit. The panels of the iris door opened as she neared it. She entered the sterile room, taking in the sight. The table on which the dead girl lay had been moved to the side.

An attendant hastened to give Kavak a clear mask and a white sterile robe, but she waved him away. “I’ll keep my distance from the operating tables.”

Unaware of the recent incident, the other girls slept. Their shaved heads bore precise markings in preparation for the delicate surgeries. Kavak could almost relate to them as worthy beings without all that ugly hair on their heads, but she knew better. Humans were a plague.

The surgeons on the outside of the circle focused on the shaved head of the next girl. They dialed delicate settings on the laser cutter, matching it to the markings on the skull.

Noticing Kavak, the chief surgeon looked up from the sensitive dials. “Continue the fine tuning,” he ordered his aides, then came to meet her, shoulders drooping as if in apology.

Kavak found his lack of backbone irritating. “Why did she die?” she asked bruskly.

 
“They are too weak, Exalted Leader. We must slow the process or they may all die and we’ll need new subjects.”

 
“Unacceptable. We have to do it with what we’ve got, and we have a specific time frame. Any delay in any part of the project could have disastrous repercussions." Kavak hated to make concessions, but she had little choice in this case. “Slow only as much as absolutely necessary for their survival. This project already has a twenty year timeline for them, due to space-time shifts, and synchronized timing is critical to our success.”

At the sound of the concentric panels of the iris door, Kavak glanced over her shoulder to see the shaman enter, carrying his flute. The elaborate headdress of synthetic red and yellow feathers fluttered as he bowed to Kavak.

 
“The planet of our ancestors awaits,” the shaman uttered, in the greeting of the religious cast, then kissed the amulet pouch hanging from his neck. He hovered respectfully a few inches below Kavak’s level and glided to the table where the dead girl’s body lay under the sheet. Playing a mournful melody on the flute, the shaman lowered his feet to the floor and started dancing around the table.

The sound of the instrument frayed Kavak’s nervous circuits. “Cease this instant!”

The shaman stopped his dance and took the flute out of his mouth, gazing at Kavak, a confused expression on his face. “But, Exalter Leader, the girl’s spirit was scared when she died. She needs the sacred music to help her ascend.”

Out of patience, Kavak glided toward the shaman, her head looming menacingly a few inches over his. “Humans are substandard. They do not ascend! Why can’t you and your acolytes admit to the simple truth?" Kavak also suspected that no one ever ascended spiritually, even the best behaved Anaz-voohri. These religious lies only weakened her people.

The shaman swallowed audibly and his eyes rounded with outrage. “Are you implying that our Anasazi ancestors did not ascend because they were human? This is blasphemy, Exalted Leader! Beware, the gods will not grant you victory in battle if you ignore their teachings.”