It's the Mentat's job to separate the veneer from the building material. Despite mental training, societal customs and advancements in technology, today's humans are driven by compulsions originating a million years in the past.
- THE NEW MENTAT HANDBOOK, CVII EDITION
It was just past noon and the streets were deserted due to the heat. Three kids were playing with sticks and leaves by the courtyard's palm trees, the only trace of greenery in an otherwise brown and teal neighborhood. A man seated on a low wall smoked, white turban and tunic. Red hawks silently circled in the air above, an unusual sight at that time of the day.
The kids were now using the sticks as makeshift swords to stage an improvised battle. In the heat of the mock fight the sticks made contact, broke, and a splinter flew in the air, landing on the man's boot.
"Sir, could we have the stick back?" one of the boys asked hesitantly. The man did not reply and continued to smoke from a long pipe, staring intensely at the sun. The boy approached slowly, unsure what to do. He stepped forward, no more than a foot from the boot, and tentatively reached out a hand, the very moment the man kicked the stick up in the air and away. The boy, half startled and half relieved he did not have to get that close, shouted something and ran after the stick like a dog chasing its toy. The man smiled cruelly.
"Don't mock the children; that's a sure way to be noticed," said a voice behind the man.
"This is a sleepy neighborhood. Mothers and fathers are all gone working in the big festival city. The kids are left on their own until sundown. You are the first to stop by in an hour," replied the sitting man in between puffs of smoke.
"Say your name," was the reply.
"I am the father who waits." Another puff of smoke.
"And I am the prodigal son."
"Welcome back, son; your return fills me with joy." The sitting man turned his head just a little to acknowledge the newcomer, another man in tattered brown clothing.
"And your forgiveness does the same to me, father," replied the newcomer kindly; then his voice turned back to practical matters: "I don't like how you addressed me; I could have been a local trying to trick a stranger."
"A local would not dress with off-world clothing like yours," said the sitting man, still facing the other way. Another puff of smoke. The boys were still playing on the other side of the courtyard, blissfully too far to hear the words.
"Fair enough. There is no one around, I will grant you, and the streets outside are empty. It was not easy to find this place and there was no one to ask around."
"No one would have helped you either, given the way you look," reproached him the smoking man, "you should have changed into poorer and cleaner clothing, got a tan, wore sandals, and come with a uni-cart to pretend you were selling or doing some local work. The roads here are broken, maintenance work would have been an easy cover."
"Lower your voice, father," said the newcomer.
"There is no one to hear us, son," continued the other man, "I am not the one who is unable to pass for a native."
"Well, I am here, and we have exchanged the words, and I am in need of refuge," continued the newcomer feeling uneasy at the little status game at play there; the code words explicitly named him a son, and his contact a father, and while that was just a cover, its subtle power play could not be avoided.
"When we did not see you come at the expected time, we started worrying," said the smoking man, standing up for the first time to stretch, body turning to engage with the newcomer.
"Security detained me and Hijouz." better to get in front of this, the newcomer thought.
"What story did they get out of you two?" The man has this unnerving way of talking to him without really looking into his direction. His vein-carved hand held the long pipe so that the breeze would push its foul white smoke in his direction; the other hand was resting into the dishdasha.
"The police did a big round up downtown, we were two among many."
"And this Hijouz?"
"Still detained."
"How come you are free?"
"I was in a big group, Hijouz - who split with me according to the plan - was found with a hidden weapon."
"How naive," the man now kept puffing smoke in the air, narrowing his eyes with every inhalation.
"It was not naive at all," replied the newcomer, "it was deliberate so that the security police would be busy with the group he mingled with. I went through the lightest interrogation. It is fairly easy to pass for a pilgrim, especially if the guards' attention is elsewhere."
"Clever. Just as clever as your choice of names; Hijouz - sounds like a local name, while yours, Heban - friendly-sounding but definitely not local; a good name for a pilgrim."
A pause in the conversation brought to their ears the shouts of the three children who now had started to play with a tattered round ball. The smoking man spoke first: "That still cannot explain how security forces stormed our ship less than an hour ago." His eyes were fixed on the other man, recording the reaction in his face and body.
"Not the passenger ship, Heban; I am talking about the ship with active cloaking that you came from."
"That's not possible," the Heban's body recoiled as a surprise look came over his face.
"Quite the contrary. Immigration officers entered the passenger ship, de-cloaked and docked at the orbital station you just left hours ago, with the pretext of an inspection."
"We already had planned for an inspection, father."
"Indeed. Except that once aboard, the same officers revealed themselves to be a SWAT team. They went out to the passenger ship's surface and from there launched grappling anchors to attach themselves and board our cloaked ship which as you know was hiding right behind. Of course they had already detained the passenger's ship crew at that point, so that no message could be sent out."
Heban closed his eyes momentarily, replied: "I don't believe you,"
"Well you know the cloaked ship used the passenger ship as a cover. Only our people and you two knew the details, on this very planet; you two because in fact, came from the cloaked vessel. Reason why I am asking you: how did they figure out about the cloaked ship?"
In the seconds that passed Heban's face went through confusion, then anger, then fear: the realization that something wrong had happened, and that the man in front of him could be a safe haven as much as a new enemy. He replied: "I don't know. If you have contacts inside Security, go ask about me. Take me in and do your investigations."
"Is this Hijouz to be trusted?"
"Hijouz was never told the details, and blindfolded on the way out of the ship," he replied again, just realizing that fact made him the prime suspect.
"Describe to me your time with Security." He did.
"Did they follow you here, then?" asked the smoking man, suddenly wary.
"I took many precautions. No doubt your own men have checked on that as I approached this courtyard. Father, how about moles in your network?"
The smoking man opened his mouth to say something, and closed it. A ball rolled into his field of vision. It was a ragged, worn-out ball that almost burst at the seams. They paused as a young boy, three-foot tall approached the scene with panicky brown eyes, dirty clothes. They averted their gaze while he collected the ball and ran to the other side of the courtyard.
"I have complete trust in my people. And yes, we have people in Security; your friend, we do not care much about. But we can check on how the attack came about. It will take some time, since the old channels are less useful."
"You don't have a back channel, then?" Heban asked, suspiciously.
"There is a new aide to the Commissioner, which suggests we should proceed with caution. Nothing we cannot go around," replied the smoking man: "The way I see it, somebody learned about the no-ship. They could only learn this from a handful of people. If you are to say something, say it now."
"This impacts me too, father. We have brought weapons and men to prepare for a false-flag attack to justify..."
"You were planning to attack the Cordian embassy to justify a military intervention on Delphyne, we know. As agreed."
"My superiors need to know."
"They will. You are under my protection. Come and we will give you refuge, and discuss the next steps. You will be given a way to communicate off-world, of course," the voice of the smoking man, who now was not smoking anymore, rang sincere, which made the Heban's skin crawl under his sticky clothes. He suddenly regretted having come to the meeting. He had initiated contact with the local conspirators unaware of the attack to the no-ship; now he was going to be a stranger on trial, a convenient scapegoat. Unless the attack was a carefully choreographed lie, in which case he was already dead.
"Where?" asked the newcomer, betraying uncertainty.
"A ground car is waiting for us around the corner," replied the 'father' standing up. He turned his back to the Heban and started walking with a slight gait. Together they entered a narrow lane just a couple of turns into the maze of teal painted walls. A dusty ground car was stationed there, empty. Slightly behind the other man, Heban broke into a run, making three steps before his leg gave way, then his body fell, sliced in two by the laser.
The other man, the smoking man, shook his head while carefully powering down the lasgun and putting it away in his pocket. "Traitor and coward," he muttered under his breath. He noticed how the lasgun had cut a black line on the nearby wall, creating a gap through which you could peek into the courtyard on the other side, the same where two boys were still playing at a distance, unaware. He looked down at the sliced body a few feet away, smelling like cooked meat; then quickly entered the car, which navigated away from the lane and the body and into the main road, passing for a swift moment in front of the courtyard's entrance.
Only the boys remained under the palm trees. The one who had retrieved the ball was not playing, though. He was kneeling right at a point in the perimeter wall where something had cut through. A moment later, the same boy brought a hand against his ear, an eerie grown-up gesture a man would use to receive a message. He whispered briefly to himself, then steadily walked out of the courtyard until he reached a nearby construction yard, deserted in the hottest hour of the day. The boy entered a door leading into a small office, and climbed on a stool. The door closed and the light inside came on, revealing three armed men. The boy looked up with a look that was wise beyond his years.
"We appreciate your direct help, officer Teg," said one of the armed men.
"I remained within range of the equipment you gave me. The recording of the meeting should give you means for the identification of the killer. Have the man followed. Give praise to your falconers on my behalf for the excellent recon."
"We have eyes on his ground car. Should we apprehend him at once?"
"Not at all."
"Why not, officer?" asked the most senior of the three.
"Don't catch the fly; catch the carp eating it. Intercept all communication, see who else falls in the net."
"Yes sir." The agents seemed intrigued. "Sir?"
"Yes?"
"How did you learn about the no-ship?"
Miles Teg flashed a brief smile. His inner eye scanned once again the planet's immediate space, sensing all the nearby vessels in orbit, invisible to all but his awareness; then lied: "The person who was Heban, and whose body is now dead in the back lane. A lasguns cut him clear. Go clean it out."
They set to march out, then Teg stopped them at the doorway. "Retrieve something of the body: a hand, perhaps, or better the head."
"Yes, sir?"
"Bring it to Hijouz back at the headquarters to prove his companion is dead; he may believe that his contacts turned against him; offering asylum in exchange for collaboration. That will help loosen his tongue."
"Aye, sir," they acknowledged while marching out. Teg stood still, focused his equipment to eavesdrop on the three soldiers as they walked to the back lane:
"How did he convince that agent to tell us about the no-ship?"
"Falconry! We only tracked him here because of the trained hawks we kept as pets at HQ."
"Have you heard of anything like taking over an invisible ship at orbital altitudes?"
"He is the devil!"
"Screw the devil, how could we have a commander this young."
"The headquarters were right..."
"Child prodigy..."