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  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.

  The first thing he noticed was the breeze. The evaporation it caused when it passed over his sweat-soaked body cooled him immediately. The second thing he noticed was the scrap taking place at the front of the stage between Rala and another alien. Then he saw the large male Minith on a raised portion at the center of the stage pointing a pulse pistol toward Rala and the other fighter.

  Grant's reflexes took over. The round he sent toward the clown with the pistol struck the alien's upper body and spun him to the right. The alien's shot went wild and took out a large corner of the screen above Grant's head.

  The armed Minith soldiers situated around the perimeter of the stage—who had appeared to be letting things progress on their own—suddenly seemed interested in the happenings on the stage. Several of the soldiers' pulse rifles were turned in their direction at once. Two released bolts of the deadly red pulses—one of which struck a human captive from the first container. As a group, the remaining captives hit the floor to avoid being targeted. Good training, Grant thought.

  Conway opened fire on the armed aliens and was quite effective in her shot selection. Very good training. But the numbers were on the side of the Minith, and they quickly began returning fire.

  It was at this point that Grant remembered the item he had tucked into the sleeve of his shirt. He hit the ground, slipped the small, button-like device into his palm, and pushed it quickly three times.

  CHAPTER 37

  The sounds of Minith weapons and those irritating "oooh-ooohs" were immediately replaced by the sounds of hundreds of thousands of Minith bodies dropping to the ground. After a moment filled by the strange sounds of muted thumping and rustling—and two single blasts from Conway's rifle—complete silence filled the air.

  "Hold your fire, Conway."

  "No shit, General."

  Without exception, the humans and Telgorans stood up and gazed across the strange sight before them. The massed crowds that had occupied the giant expanse of open area between the large stage and the mothership in the distance were still present. The only difference was that they now lay in piles everywhere.

  Like some type of strange alien puppets, one moment, they were up and active. The next, their strings were cut and they all collapsed in place.

  "What do we do now?" Titan asked.

  "If they aren't dead, I say we kill 'em all," Conway said.

  "They aren't dead," Grant replied. The Waa were clear that they were giving him a non-lethal weapon. "But we're not killing them. Patahbay, can you and your people gather the weapons from the soldiers around the stage? Conway, check on our folks over there and see if any of them need medical attention."

  "What about me?"

  "Good question, Titan. I suppose you can check to see if our host, Rala, is hurt. I think we may need her soon." Grant looked around, smiled. "And you might want to check on Gee. I think he's still in the container. In the meantime, I'm going to see if I can't find what Aal and his people are up to."

  * * *

  Oiloo watched the humans go about the business of collecting weapons and checking the fallen Minith. The day's events had not gone well at all. Fortunately, he had orders that could help put everything right.

  "Captain, send orders out to all ships. We are heading for Waa at once."

  * * *

  The Minith were out for an hour, more or less, when the first of the crowd began to stir. Within two minutes of the first one coming to and looking around, every alien in the city seemed to have recovered. From what the Waa told Grant, and from what he observed himself, none of them showed any negative effects, except for a few bruises caused by their initial collapse.

  Once revived, the assembled aliens were visibly pissed. They had no idea how long they had been out, only that some period of time had passed.

  Grant and his group were ready. They stood spread out along the length of the stage—a mix of humans, Telgorans, and the Waa. Aal and two others had relented to Grant's request to join them on the platform. They provided a united front to the assembly.

  The Minith weapons had been taken, and except for the ones handed out to the previously captured humans, were stacked at the center of the raised dais. In front of the stacked weapons, Grant had laid the body of the former governor. Truk's purple-splattered corpse was easily visible on the large screen behind the stage. Bound in position to chairs on each side of the body sat Ghin and Rala. The guards that had been positioned around the perimeter of the stage were also bound in place. When they awoke, they struggled against their binds, but Titan had used the tightest knots he could remember from his days on the farm. They weren't getting loose unless they had help. On the whole, it was an overly macabre scene—but one which made a statement to the assembled Minith.

  For those who might have missed the statement the humans were trying to make, Grant announced, "We have killed your leader. His replacement, as well as his former aide and guards, are restrained." His Minith was perfect, and his declaration had the effect of silencing the growing murmurs and grumbles coming from the awakened aliens.

  "We could have killed each of them while they slept," he continued, then pointed to the crowd. "We could have killed each of you. But we did not. Because we are not killers.

  "We are humans from the planet Earth. But then…I'm sure you already knew that." Grant struggled for the right words. He had never been a good public speaker—it was why he had relied so heavily on Mouse to speak with the Leadership Council. He could never find just the right words. He opted for open honesty with the Minith. They would either relent to his proposal or not, but he would not hold back.

  "Your race came to our planet almost twenty years ago. You had no consideration for our way of life, our ideals, or our principles. You simply enslaved our workers, stole our resources, and killed our people.

  "Because of your actions, we gave up our way of living—we gave up our Peaceful existence. We reverted to our old ways—the ways of fighting and war. We overcame your force, seized your mothership, and destroyed your home planet of Minith."

  A hum of anger passed through the crowd as the Minith wrestled with the conclusiveness of Grant's statement.

  "It makes you angry, doesn't it—to have another race come to your planet and kill your people? Well, remember, it was you who landed the first blow. And we will make no apologies for our actions because they were made in self-defense against an evil empire. That's what you are to the races you have come up against: humans, Telgorans, the Waa. You are evil.

  "Fortunately for you, we are not evil. We don't want to kill you or enslave you. We just want to be free to go about our lives wit
hout having to wonder when you're coming back to attack us again. The only way to do that, however, is to dominate you—because that's the only thing you understand. Your very nature requires that we subjugate you, keep you oppressed.

  "As they say where I come from, 'It's a dirty job, but someone's gotta do it.' Well, that someone is me. From this moment forward, I'm your new leader. By your laws, I've earned the right. I've killed your leader and captured his replacement. When I pass on—or if, by chance, any of you green clowns manages to kill me—another human, or a Telgoran, or one of the Waa, will take my place."

  Grant paused, certain he would hear grumbling or complaint—if not a full-out rebellion—at the declaration. But the Minith just watched, without any visible or verbal sign that they agreed, disagreed, or even understood what he was saying. He was fully prepared to hit the snooze button in his right palm again if needed. But it wasn't, so he forged on.

  "Within your race, you will be free to act as you wish, and select your leaders as you see fit. But until you've proven that you are capable of leading without fear, intimidation, or threats, you won't ever hold the reins of power outside of your race.

  "That's all I have to say for now. I hope we understand each other."

  Several heartbeats passed before Grant heard any sound. And when the sound came, it came from behind him. He turned to see Rala begin the now-familiar grunting.

  "Oooh-oooh-oooh. Oooh-oooh-oooh."

  Like a ripple, the chant was picked up by the guards tied to their positions at the perimeter of the stage, then it moved to the front rows of the crowd, then to the Minith standing behind them. In less than a minute, the strange chant reached the farthest edge of the crowd and it continued to grow as Grant watched, enthralled.