Federations

Adriassi shrugged slowly, his face thoughtful. “The Marosett, the ones you call seditionists, believe we were four-footed beasts until the Sky King gave us souls and helped us stand upright. They want their mouths open when they die so their souls can return to their creator.” As he spoke, the translator again turned sluggish, then produced only a single word: “Superstition.”

In an earlier conversation, Adriassi had explained that many of his people believed emigrants from an advanced civilization had terraformed this planet and then destroyed everything from their past, deliberately erasing their origins. Some of Adriassi’s people believed that one day they would unearth a cache of advanced technology; others, including Adriassi, believed that one day their progenitors would return for them. No matter how many times I denied it, Adriassi seemed convinced that our squad was a group of emissaries come to measure his people’s moral progress before inviting them back into the fold. Fundamentalists like the seditionists, however, were convinced they have always been of this planet. They held the earth sacred, even down to the endless fields of tall white grass that had no obvious use.

I didn’t want to dwell on Rauder’s behavior any more, so I changed the subject and questioned him about the major industries on ES-248QRT4T, all the while trying to think of a more appropriate name for the place. It’s funny how insignificant a planet’s name is while you’re there; you really only need to refer to it after you’ve left.

Adriassi answered my questions, but in a distracted manner, all along keeping his eyes on the street, keeping his eyes open for any would-be assassins.

• • •

“I see your five and bet fourteen,” Marsten said, clenching a hand-rolled cigar between his teeth and exhaling pink smoke. He and Rauder sat on one side of a triangular table across from Finnel and Vok, the gorgeous redhead from Fireteam Alpha.

“Fourteen what?” Finnel said with a sigh, picking through the pile of multicolored square bills and oval stone coins on the table. “I can never figure out this alien money.”

“How about fourteen souls?” Rauder said and laughed too loudly as she pointed to the brown sack hanging from her bunk.

I rubbed my eyes and hunkered over the monitor, indexing bits of information Adriassi had relayed over the course of the day, trying to give some logical shape to my report. A wispy, pungent cloud of smoke persisted in the barracks even though I’d turned the filtration system to the max. It was making me lightheaded.

“Can it, Rauder,” Vok said. “You’ve got nothing in that bag but hot air.”

“Not true. I’ve got a nice collection of souls,” she said and blew a smoke ring across the table. “Isn’t that right, Kiernan?”

I pretended not to hear and continued poring over the report, trying to sort Adriassi’s comments and find connections to other conversations we’ve had about religion, economics, and civics. For a planet of less than two million inhabitants, they’d created a remarkably convoluted system of governance. Trying to make sense of how life functioned here was like sorting through a rat’s nest.

“Kiernan, want to fill in for me?” Finnel called. “I’m no good at this game.”

“Always hard at work,” Vok sang at me, batting her lashes. “Get over here, Kiernan and help me. Finnel’s right, he’s terrible. They’re up by thirteen points, but I’ve been letting them win so Rauder will keep sharing her ratleaf. This stuff doesn’t need any translation,” she said and took a drag on her own dainty cigar.

“You’re still at it? File the report already,” Rauder groaned. “Like anyone reads those things. This is a nothing rock in the corner of nowhere. If the Confederation loses its mind and decides to use this planet as a refueling point, we should just move everyone to another planet. No tiptoeing around their precious cultural beliefs, no locals to interview, no need for Xenos.”

Marsten moaned and threw down his cards. “Here we go.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Rauder?” I said, rising to the bait. “Relocate the ones who go peacefully, wipe out the ones that don’t, and move on to the next planet. Of course, you’d keep whatever you find to get you off.”

“An excellent policy,” Rauder said.

“For an ignorant barbarian.”

Rauder pounded the table, making the stone coins jump, and the room went silent.

“I’m so sick of your bullshit, Kiernan. Every planet, it’s the same thing. You gobble up as much as you can about these people, their habits, their histories, pretending you’re doing good work, but that’s not reality. The Confed takes what it can, and tries to prevent things being taken from them. That’s how things work and, from everything we’ve seen over the years, that’s how it works everywhere. None of these people want to be your friend, Kiernan. The only reason locals talk to you is because they’re afraid of what we’ll do if they don’t cooperate.”