— 11 —

Commissioner Sobel traveled in secret to a landing field near the main Jaxxan base, where he would meet with Warlord Kiltik. Together, they would unleash their special team behind battlefield lines to take care of the embarrassing situation before rumors could leak out.

Sobel could cover up the problem for another few days, but high command would know about it before long. He wanted to be able to announce that he’d eliminated the defective Deathguard before uncomfortable questions came down the pipeline. He didn’t have much time. Although he had no understanding of Jaxxan politics or military protocol, he sensed that Kiltik felt just as much incentive and anxiety.

As he and the alien Warlord watched the ten human and Jaxxan trackers demonstrate their cooperative efforts, Kiltik startled him with an unexpected comment. “I have learned that your people call us ‘cockroaches,’ Commissioner.”

Sobel tried to cover his embarrassment. “Roaches? Yes, I’ve heard that. It’s just an Earth insect. There are some … physical similarities.”

“Not just an Earth insect, Commissioner, but one that is considered filthy, one that wallows in or feeds on garbage. In reality, the Jaxxan race is quite fastidious.”

Sobel gave an unconvincing laugh. “I wouldn’t worry about it. It’s a common practice among grunts—er, lower level soldiers—to create derogatory names for the enemy. I’m certain your race does the same. Don’t you have any insulting terms for humans?”

Warlord Kiltik twitched. “We call them humans. That is all the insult we need.”

The ten-member hunter squad continued training. The human soldiers had already been briefed specifically on how to kill a Deathguard (details they would not reveal to their alien counterparts). The current exercises showed the team members how to effectively combine Earth League laser weaponry and Jaxxan energy-web techniques. Most importantly, they got used to working with one another. That was the big barrier to break.

Kiltik said, “I find it discouraging that ten trained fighters are necessary to combat two deserters.”

“No one is more annoyed than I am, but those two have already killed fourteen of my fighters and six of yours. I should be proud of our Deathguard’s fighting skills, but I cannot help but wonder if your soldier somehow corrupted him.”

Kiltik choked his dry, rustling cough. “Who corrupted whom? Remember, Jaxxans are empaths. How can one of us possibly remain normal when constantly bombarded with your Deathguard’s alien perspectives? Our deserter was already flawed, in the wrong place after being removed from the System Holystal project. Your Deathguard has irreparably damaged him.”

A Jaxxan trotted up from one of the outpost buildings and handed the Warlord a small geometric crystal. Kiltik turned the object over in his hands, feeling the facets and reading its shape. When he finished, the crystal vanished from his hands.

“I have just been informed by my reconnaissance that the two deserters were spotted in the wastelands, moving away from the front. Then they vanished again.”

Sobel frowned. “If we knew where they were going, our hunter squad could intercept them.”

The Commissioner remembered visiting Rader in the med-center when he was no more than a few mangled lumps of flesh wired up to life-support; he’d had high hopes for his newest Deathguard. Now, he just wanted him removed from the equation.

He and Kiltik stood together, admiring their special team.

***

High above the ecliptic, bright starlight reflected off of the giant planes of polished cometary ice and majestic crystal spires being assembled there by Jaxxan imaginers and psychics.

The human military did not know the location of the System Holystal construction above the asteroid belt. Even if they did stumble upon the site, they wouldn’t understand it. Warlord Kiltik did not understand it himself. Holystal interpretation was not the duty of his caste, but he trusted the skills and knowledge of those who manifested such a representation. They could read the lines of fate, the fractures and angles that showed which paths Jaxxans could take into the future.

Thousands of workers operated here in space. While high-powered imaginers used their mental powers to create holographic portions of the ever-changing structure, teams of builders pushed small chunks of orbiting ice and diverted comets to deliver the materials here.

The Jaxxan race now inhabited five star systems. In each one, a revered System Holystal such as this one guided their decisions. The Jaxxan deserter who had joined forces with the human Deathguard had once been a skilled holystal imaginer who could understand subtle nuances in the cosmic constructions.

Now the Warlord flew in a small observation shuttle, piloted by his chief adviser. It was part of Kiltik’s regular briefing to plan the next week’s tactics, but he was losing confidence in the adviser’s recommendations. Any decent interpreter should have been able to warn against the current mess. The chief adviser knew his failing and desperately wanted to return to the Warlord’s good graces.

The observation shuttle approached the gigantic holystal, and Kiltik marveled at its facets, saw the distant starlight that reflected from the shining surfaces. He realized that it had been a mistake to demote the holystal engineer and turn him into a mere battlefield soldier. Observing the facets and angles, the Warlord could see how easy it would be to predict a different future from all the complexity. Even his chief adviser now suspected that some of the deserter’s contradictory warnings might have had some merit.

However, the deserter’s actions were indefensible: collaborating with a human—and not just any human, but a Deathguard who was single-handedly responsible for the murder of dozens if not hundreds of Jaxxan soldiers! It was shameful, an embarrassment, and Warlord Kiltik needed the situation resolved. In that, he was completely aligned with his human counterpart.

Reticent and chastised, the chief adviser flew the survey shuttle in a tight orbit over the giant holystal. Kiltik remained silent, his disapproval hanging in the enclosed cockpit. The adviser devoted his attention to the kaleidoscopic facets, the ever-changing fissures, crystalline angles, cracks and impurities, each of which indicated a different future, a path of fate that must be heeded.

Finally, the Warlord expressed his impatience. “I am not sightseeing. I am here to ferret out information. You are my interpreter. If you wish to regain my respect, then find answers.” He turned his polished eyes to the nervous chief adviser. “Look at the holystal, find the portions that are relevant to these deserters. I need to know what their plans are. Our hunter squad must know where they intend to go.”

The adviser’s voice was thin and warbling. “The holystal is still under construction, Warlord. Even if we find the proper facets, any answers are merely within a locus of possibilities.”

“Then I need those possibilities. Narrow them down so I can make my decisions.”

The chief adviser guided the survey shuttle over an expanse of stalagmite-covered ice and broken shards, a jumble that meant something to a Jaxxan properly versed in interpretation. “There, Warlord!” The adviser pointed to a flurry of cracks and warped transparency in the polished ice. “That appeared since my last visit here.”

“What changed?”

“The deserters have made a concrete plan, which is reflected here. This allows us to draw conclusions.”

Kiltik was careful not to praise the man too much. “How accurate can you be?”

“I have a … reasonable certainty.” He was cautious, not wanting to commit to what might be another error. The chief adviser stared through the windowport, assessing the ripples and distortion in the crystalline structure. “We cannot extrapolate far into the future, but I can project where they intend to go next.”

Kiltik felt pleased. “If that information is accurate enough for our hunter squad to intercept them, then we won’t need any further projections.”