"And what's worth a fortune in space and nothing in the desert?"
"A grain of spice."
"What's worth a fortune in the desert and nothing in space?"
"A litrejon of water."
- THE RIDDLES OF OLD RAKIS
"The yellow dots are the attackers," explained Miles Teg, "the red ones, our own." The hologram floated gently above the table around which his officers and commanders stood alert. The bashar liked to illustrate himself the new various new pieces of equipment that the Niners' frigates had been furiously unloading in the last several weeks. Pallets climbed the walls of their facilities while instructors dressed in gray, their heads half covered in rubbery sheaths conducted endless briefings and training sessions. Soldiers practiced with the new weapons in fields dug under the city; or tested the new las-shields and practiced the three-finger movement required to activate them. Falconers directed hawks and owls patrolled the night sky, scanning the ground with their mounted cameras. "Queens" trained to direct the swarms of killer bees with the thermal ray. Sonic devices promised to break people's bones from the inside. And the Niners had reinvented old defenses and weapons alike with new materials: shigawire barbs, self-aiming maula pistols, flexible blades.
It seemed the onslaught of technology could not be stopped.
As the most junior officer in the room, Lieutenant Wailea was easily overlooked. Her small body could vanish in the shadow while her taller colleagues stood out sharply in the stark light of the hologram. But that did not mean she allowed herself to get distracted. What was projected in the new situation room, uncomfortably left without seats, was a real combat operation, and therefore the first real small scale battle Delphyne forces were fighting in decades.
"Why is the inner circle displaying no human presence, bashar?" she asked, her soprano voice climbing above the ones of the other officers.
"Very good question. We cannot see inside this perimeter, because there is a no-globe there shielding the interior from our probes. However, should our opponents," the bashar continued pointing to the yellow dots, "breach the perimeter, it's likely the no-globe will start to leak signals."
Wailea's eyes followed his gesture, noticing how close the enemy was to the no-globe's entrance. "It's only time before the attackers reach the entrance and place a small bomb to unseal it," somebody else observed.
"Not until our snipers control the area from above," she chimed in.
"Very well. Time to observe exactly who these attackers are," continued the bashar with an instructional tone, and moved his hand gently over the console. The scene grew smaller while pictures appeared at the top.
"Civilians," said one of the elders.
"They look like protesters to me," chimed in Kalo, the young petulant officer.
"Who armed them?"
Wailea's body shook gently as a tremor took over the floor. She glanced around but was sure she was the only one who had noticed. The distant noise spoke of holes dug very deep into the ground. The "moles" were at work. The bashar could not get free movement in the city, and so he dug for it under the city with blades of plasteel. The officers already called it the underdark, because their new helmets required no light, and the only light one could expect down there would be, potentially, from enemies foolishly exploring the tunnels. The ancient word rolled on her tongue. Guerilla.
"That is a question to pursue the answer to," answered the bashar in the darkness of the room. "Until you notice these," and he focused on a single photogram.
"Black ops," said Kalo.
"Which ones?" continued the bashar, testing them.
Wailea did not need to think. "Those are Tailarons' zombie fighters in disguise," she proclaimed, "by the drugged look in their eyes."
"How would we know for sure? To prove in an international court of law?"
"They can suppress their trance in a way that removes the drug from their bodies," replied Kalo.
"You need to capture and incapacitate them, then maybe," Wailea jumped in, "Killing them does not help either, the chemicals in their bodies are too transient to detect among the chemical shutdown."
"Any other way?" the bashar asked sharply. An aide entered the room and left a brief message. The bashar shook his head, murmured "hold both of them off for now," then turned back to the team.
"There! We lost a sniper," Wailea called out. "Where are our reinforcements?"
"There is fighting outside of the compound too," the bashar remarked with uneasiness, "we are locked out of the compound for now."
"What assets are inside the no-globe, bashar?"
"Key personnel and equipment."
"Hit the master."
"Pray tell how?"
Wailea stood forward, letting the light touch her face to reveal her black eyes. "That one," she pointed to the third picture from the top, "dressed as a priest. Notice the hand at his neck? He is holding a communicator to direct the zombies. Take him out and you will only face a few wild protesters and zombies without willpower."
"My thanks," replied the Bashar, whispering commands in a microphone. "How do you know the Tailarons so well?"
"Was one of them," she replied without thinking. Many heads in the room turned to her. "I meant my father was. Tailarons only employ men as soldiers." She blinked. "Beliefs," she added in a cryptic manner.
"The master is down," Kalo murmured, pointing to the map.
The aide came back in. "Bashar, both the Tailaron ambassador and the Commissioner - separately - say they cannot wait any longer."
"Explosion detected," said somebody.
"They are in," Wailea gasped.
"How do you know?"
"I see yellow dots inside the no-globe!"
"It means the door is open," observed the bashar with unshakeable calm. "The crowd has breached the no-globe."
