Peace World (31 page)

Truk made a final check of his own uniform as the vehicle finally pulled up to the edge of the stage.  As ready as he would ever be, he exited when the door was opened and stared boldly at the edges of the crowd that waited just beyond the open area surrounding the stage.  He nodded to the ones he recognized as he approached the steps leading up.  He heard the first "oooh-oooh-ooohs" come from the crowd.

As planned, Truk waited below as Ghin preceded him up the short flight of stairs.  The "oooh-oooh" sounds increased significantly when his aide reached the top of the stage and grew in depth and volume as Ghin made his way to the center.  They increased even more when Ghin welcomed the crowd and introduced Truk.

When Truk stepped onto the raised platform, the chanting of the crowd reached a fever pitch.  The sound drowned the governor in warmth and he felt as if he floated to the center of the stage.

Yes
,
today is the day
.

*     *     *

Everything is in place.

The thought ran through her mind for the hundredth time.  As usual, she took mental pause to ensure that nothing had been left undone, no action not taken. This was not a time for mistakes.

From her position under the stage, Rala heard the crowd giving Truk recognition.  For some, the "ooohs" were offered in recognition of his role as their current leader.  For some, the recognition was honest—given as acknowledgement of the things he had done for the Minith since becoming supreme ruler.  For many others, making the sound was nothing more than a rote exercise, the recognition given only because it was expected of them.  It was from this latter group that a large contingent of her support base originated.  These were the Minith she had recruited to her side.  It was with these soldiers, politicians, and administrators that she had made deals, offered promises, and guaranteed positions.  Whether she could keep those promises or not depended on her ability to navigate the rocky waters that lay before her.

She was as prepared as well as she could be.  Her supporters were strategically positioned throughout the crowd.  The stage and the events Truk would attempt to play out upon it had been crafted by her.  The humans had been placed into position earlier in the day.  Even the guards surrounding Truk had been hand-picked by her and her supporters.  The theater was set perfectly.  As long as everyone played their parts, she would be the new supreme ruler before the day ended.  She went over the details for the hundred-and-first time and saw no flaws.

Yes,
she thought,
everything is in place
.

*     *     *

It's effing hot in this damn container
, Grant thought.  He glanced at what remained of his team and saw that Gee, Titan, and Conway appeared to be just as miserable as he was.  All had serious-looking faces—and all were beaded in sweat.  Of course, the Telgorans seemed nonchalant and wholly unaffected by the heat.

The muffled sounds that came through the walls of the container—which reminded him of the ancient metal shipping containers that were once common on Earth—alerted them that the Minith ceremonies had begun.  When the crowd stopped that irritating "oooh-oooh-oooh" chant, they could even hear what was being said.  Right now, the current governor, Truk, was prattling on about how they were a superior race, could not be defeated, had a great future… blah, blah, blah.  To Grant, the governor sounded like a typical politician from Earth. 

So far, everything had proceeded exactly as Rala had told them it would.  The initial plan that Grant had developed with the Waa called for him to get captured by the Minith.  The idea was that he would be included in the events already planned for the other humans the Minith had taken.  After meeting Rala and learning of her plans, he had quickly revised the plan.  They would still be a part of the ceremonies—just a part that no one except Rala knew about.  It had solved the potential problem of being injured or searched during his capture.  It also allowed him to include Conway, Titan, and the Telgorans—who were not part of his original "capture" plan.

Rala had shown them the container before dawn and instructed them in how to open the doors from the inside. According to her, it would be one of two such containers located directly behind the stage where the ceremony was taking place.  Her plan, as she explained it, was to take out Truk, then give Grant and his team a signal to show themselves.  They would then make their entrance, and all would live happily ever after.

Yeah, right
.

Grant knew a disaster when he saw one, and this one had all the signs of a major catastrophe.  The last straw for him had been when Rala demanded they leave their weapons behind before entering the container.  Despite the fact that his original plan would have had him going into the scenario unarmed, now that things had changed, there was no way he was going to let that happen.  Fortunately, she finally relented when she saw that he would not change his mind.  For Grant, it was a clear signal that the Minith female wanted to hold all  the cards—and she wanted them played out her way. 
Well, that was just too damn bad.
  Grant had his own plans.

 If it made sense to wait for Rala's signal, they would do so.  On the other hand, if Grant felt they needed to bust up the party sooner, he would be the one to make that call.  In the meantime, he tried to focus on the prattle coming through the walls and wiped the sweat from his eyes.

Yeah, it's too damn hot in this container.

*     *     *

Not long now
, Oiloo thought as he observed the events taking place on the stage.  The vid feed he was receiving from Waa was wonderful, but that was to be expected.  He and his armada of battle craft were much less than a light year away.  Waiting. 

The Circle of Administrators had not relented on their desire to remain out of the local conflict between the Minith and the humans.  But he had gotten them to agree that prudence was also important.  If the conflict did not work itself out as they hoped, it would be best if they were prepared—just in case. 

So far, everything on the screen was happening just as he anticipated.  If all went well, his alien puppet would soon be the leader of her pitiful race—and then they could work together to get the agsel flowing again.  If things did not go as planned, then… well, they were prepared.

Yes,
he thought.
  Either way, it won't be long now
.

CHAPTER 36

The throng was in the hundreds of thousands, and they were clearly on Truk's side, Rala saw.  She had hoped he would not be so convincing in his remarks, but the steady diet of platitudes and clichés he fed them found their mark.  Perhaps she had underestimated their need to be comforted by the warm banner of Minith solidarity.  Not that it mattered.  Events would unfold as she had planned them, and there was nothing Truk, or any other Minith, could do to stop that.  If the people needed a rallying point around which to gather, she would provide it. 

The warm grip of a pulse pistol gave her comfort as she made her way past her guards and approached the steps to the stage.  All eyes were on Truk, but she kept the pistol hidden in case an observant bystander happened to look her way.

She took a deep breath, steadied the quivering in her ears, and took the first step.  She tuned in to what Truk was saying as she ascended. 

"…are the reasons our home world was destroyed.  These humans, who I have captured, are responsible!"

He was just bringing out the captured humans.  She reached the stage, saw the pale forms being forced from the holding container at the rear of the stage, and smiled at the perfection of her timing.

*     *     *

They were his—just as he had dreamed.  Every word he spoke, they gobbled up without question.  He was so confident in his control of the assembled underlings, he claimed responsibility for the humans' capture himself.  These fools would never know otherwise, and if they did, they would readily forgive him the slight exaggeration.

The six thin sheep were herded out of a container box at the rear of the stage.  They appeared emaciated and in poor health.  Three months in Minith captivity had not treated them well, and Truk silently stewed at Rala's oversight.  She should have thought to fatten them up and dress them properly before sending them out.

He noticed a second holding container, similar to the one the humans had just exited, and he wondered briefly what it held.  Rala had not mentioned anything about it.  Oh well, those things were out of his control now, so he pushed on, anxious to play up this next part to the maximum.

"These are the only remaining humans from the pitiful attack they attempted not long ago.  All of the others were killed," he announced to the crowd.  The triumph of the announcement filled his voice.  News that they held human captives had been withheld from the population for specifically this reason:  to allow him to be the one to tell them.

The air was filled with waves of "oooh-oooh-oooh" as the masses sent their calls of recognition and respect toward the stage.  Truk would have gladly basked in the moment except for one thing.

Rala was moving across the stage toward him.  This was
not
in the script.

"Trade Minister Rala, what are you—"

*     *     *

With a slight wave of her left hand—the one that did not hold a weapon—Rala sent a message to the Minith workers operating the sound system. 

"Trade Minister Rala, what are you—"

And just like that, Truk's voice ceased to be projected through the sound system the Waa had erected across the entire city.  Instead, her voice went live.

"That will be enough of your mindless chatter, Truk."  The look on Truk's face was priceless, and Rala felt the energy coursing through her veins.  "I'm sure we've
all
heard enough from you.  Six years under your rule has been too long."

As planned, numerous, scattered choruses of "oooh-oooh-oooh" found their way to the stage.  Her co-conspirators were following their scripts perfectly. 

"What are you doing, Rala?"  Now that his sound feed was cut, only Rala and a few of the closest guards could hear the exchange.  Everyone in the city heard her response, though.

"I am eliminating a liar, a thief, and an imposter, Truk," she stated.  She pulled her right hand from its hiding place.  The pistol it held was visible for all to see.  "You do not deserve to lead our race.  For nearly six years, you have known it was the humans of Earth who destroyed our planet.  Yet, you did
nothing
in that time.  Instead, you allowed them to breed and go unpunished while you made deals and profited from the agsel trade."

Truk did not respond verbally to the accusation.  Instead, his body trembled, and his ears twitched rapidly with rage.  The sight was captured on the giant screen behind them for all to see.  For the Minith watching the exchange, the reaction was the same as an admission.  The "oooh-oooh-ooohs" that suddenly filled the air no longer delivered recognition and respect.  The tone with which they were shouted now hurled waves of indignation, disgust, and threats toward the governor. 

This had gone easier than she had expected.  Truk did not deny any of the accusations, and his non-verbal responses screamed admission.  Though Rala knew only part of her charges were true—it was
she
who made the deals with the Zrthns, after all—his reaction was good enough to convince the crowd.  The inaction on the part of the armed guards surrounding the stage did not hurt her cause.  They stayed firmly rooted to their posts and continued to face outward, toward the crowd.

"By a general consensus of the Minith of Waa," she indicated the crowd with her left hand.  The "ooohs" reached their highest level of the day—and they were "ooohs" of agreement.  Rala pointed the already raised weapon directly at Truk, who stood less than fifteen meters away.  "I sentence you to immediate—"

*     *     *

Ghin came seemingly out of nowhere and knocked the gun out of the Trade Minister's hand with a kick. 

Through a veil of purple rage, Truk absently watched his aide follow up the kick with a swift backhand strike to Rala's head.  Truk stood motionless, unable to move as he worked to sort out the chain of events that had led to his current predicament.  One moment, he was on top of his world.  The next, he was a slim trigger pull from death.

Rala
.  The person he would have least expected to turn on him had done exactly that. 

Truk shook with his body's sudden inability to act as he watched Rala bounce back from the initial blows Ghin had given her.  To Truk's surprise, the female shook off the blows and began handing out vicious punches and kicks of her own.  He'd had no idea she could fight.  The fact that she was not only holding her own, but was actually getting the best of Ghin, showed how good she was.  Ghin was a master at hand-to-hand—one of the best he had ever seen.

The two flew off the raised dais on the center of the stage.  In their wake, Truk noticed the weapon Rala had been carrying.  He calmly crossed the ten meters, scooped up the gun, and looked around for his target.

  She and Ghin were tangled in a heap at the front of the stage.  Blows were still flying between the two.  He suddenly had a decision to make.  He could wait for the two to separate, or he could fire and most likely hit them both.

Sorry, Ghin
, he decided.

*     *     *

"Screw this," Grant announced.  "Let's go."

The plan Rala had passed by him earlier in the day had gone well at first.  Then it didn't.  He didn't know what happened, but when her voice was cut off in midsentence, he knew the jig was up and it was time to move.  He reached down, released the latch holding the gate on the container closed, and rushed out, weapon at the ready.  He felt Conway on his heels and knew Titan and the Telgorans were not far behind.