CHAPTER 26.

You and what army?

American slang, circa twentieth century.

"What do you mean, you won't fight?" Jamil demanded.

They're planning to exterminate you!"

"Am I not using the word fight correctly? Do you not understand me?" the dremeck known as the One, whose name was Marmand, asked anxiously, his face-folds twitching. "What I intend to say isa""

"You're using the word correctly," Jamil said grimly. "I know what you mean. What you mean is that you won't fight your own battles."

"We had never heard of 'battles' until recently I did some research on them," Marmand explained, referring to warfare as he might have referred to some type of interesting, albeit disgusting bug he was investigating. "I have asked our human overlords to explain to me how 'battles' work, and from what I gather, we would make extremely ineffective battlers. We do not kill."

According to Quong, who was the only one who had taken the time to study the dremecks, Marmand was an elder of his race. His age was not readily apparenta"the only difference between very old dremecks and very young dremecks appeared to be height, as far as Jamil could see. He could find no difference at all between the males and the females, but he presumed that the dremecks knew, which was all that really counted. All dremecks wore the same coveralls over their wrinkled bodies and they all wore some sort of glitzy jewelry. Once the jewelry had been the beautiful gems the dremecks mined. Those had all been taken away by the humans, replaced with cheap plastic.

Unlike the jewelry, the coveralls were not native to the race. The dremecks generally wore no clothes at all. The temperature in their underground burrows was constant, they were protected from the elements, and they'd had no reason to wear clothing until the humans arrived. The dremecks could understand why the humans wore protective coveringa"their skin was soft and flabby, easily punctured, burned, and blistered.

The dremecks could not understand why they themselves should wear clothes, which were not nearly as tough as their own skin and which required a lot more effort to keep clean. One human overlord had endeavored to explain to the dremecks the concept of nudity and shame, but the dremecks remained baffled.

After speaking with Marmand at some length, Jamil came to realize that Marmand had more face-folds than the others and that all the folds seemed to be drooping, giving him the mournful air of a dyspeptic beagle.

"You'll shoot back quick enough when they are shooting at you," Jamil predicted. "You'll kill when they start killing your people."

"They have killed us," Marmand said with gentle dignity. "And we have not killed back."

"But ... didn't that make you angry?" Jamil asked, amazed by this response. "Angry enough to lash out?"

"It made us feel very sad," Marmand conceded. "And there was some anger, particularly among the young."

He indicated several dremecks standing in a group nearby, a group who looked embarra.s.sed. They shuffled their feet and seemed to wish that they had decided not to attend the meeting.

The conversation between Jamil and the One was being held in the open, in a large cleared area of the burrow, known as the Talk Room. All the dremecks not currently working in the mines were gathered herea"several hundred, by Jamil's guess. He and Marmand and the rest of the team stood in the center of the domed rock room; the other dremecks formed neat concentric circles around them. The acoustics of the underground Talk Room were so good that the dremecks in the last circle could hear just as well as those in the front row.

"Do you mean that the young dremecks want to fight?" Jamil asked, his spirits improving. He could work with this.

"No, the young wanted to run off into the outback and hide," said Marmand. "We persuaded them that this was not a wise course of action. There are several thousand of us. I think our presence here in the mines would be missed, don't you?"

Jamil grunted glumly. "Yeah, maybe."

"And then the Uglies would come searching for us in anger and many more of us would be killed."

Jamil stared hard at the young dremecks, hoping that he might see some signs of murderous rage barely held in check.

The young dremecks, seeing him look their direction, grinned at hima"sending their face-folds into amazing convolutionsa"and wiggled their fingers in what he had come to know was a dremeck form of greeting.

Jamil sighed deeply and turned back to Marmand, who was regarding him with sympathy.

"I am sorry. We appear to be a disappointment to you."

"I don't understand you people," Jamil said accusingly. "You let yourselves be treated like animalsa"worse than animals, for the humans let their pet dogs ride on their comfortable, luxurious trains, while they force you to travel in what were once termed 'cattle cars.' They have enslaved you. They make you perform menial tasks for no pay. They chain you together like criminals. They beat you. Now they're planning on slaughtering the lot of you and you won't fight to save your own lives?"

"Oh, we do not like the Uglies," Marmand said, "present company excluded." He gave a bob of his head, which sent the face-folds flopping. "Although we do like some of the things the Uglies have brought to us. The Burrows That Reach Into the Sky, for example, are quite remarkable. Not that we would want to live in them, but we like to see them. We wouldn't even mind if the Uglies continued to remain here, but we don't want to be their slaves anymore. Nor," he added as an afterthought, "do we want them toa" how was it you put thata"'s.p.a.ce' us.

"But," Marmand continued, "I do not see how killing them will stop them from killing us. If anything, it will make them angrier."

"No, it will make them respect you. If you dremecks band together and fight the Uglies, they'll listen to your terms," Jamil argued.

"You are saying that you humans have no respect for us because we do not want to slaughter you?" Marmand was asking for clarification.

"If you want to put it that way," Jamail answered harshly, "yes. I'm sorry, but that's the way it is."

"Do not be sorry. We understand. Humans are good killers. You kill your food before you eat it. You kill each other. And that is why we have brought you here," said Marmand cheerfully. "You humans will fight for us!"

"You want me to risk my a.s.s for your cause?" Jamil asked, stunned. "While you hide here in your burrow, safe and sound?"

"You appear to be upset. Is that wrong?" Marmand seemed confused.

"Yes, it's wrong," Jamil stated.

"But how can that be? You humans do this all the time," Marmand protested. "The overlord explained it to me. You always hire others to fight your battles for you. You call them 'soldiers.' Is that not true?"

Quong chuckled. "He has you there, my friend."

"Whose side are you on, Doc?" Jamil demanded angrily. "If you can't help me, maybe you should just pack up your medical kit and go home! And take Miss Universe there with you!"

"My, we're in a mood today, aren't we?" Raoul said. He had his feet propped up on a packing case and was painting his toenails with red lacquer, much to the delight and admiration of about twenty dremecks, who were gathered around to watch.

"Jamil ... Doc ... This isn't helping," Darlene admonished. She put her arm soothingly around the Little One, who was withering in the hot winds of anger swirling through the group.

"I am sorry, Jamil," Quong apologized. "I will do what I can, although I must confess the situation does not appear promising. Somewhere something was miscommunicated.

The dremecks don't want to be soldiers. They want to hire soldiers."

"Excuse us a moment, will you?" Jamil said to Marmand. "Conference. Everyone." He glared at Raoul, who started to protest that he would mess up his toenails. Seeing Jamil's dour expression, Raoul stood up and walked gingerly on his heelsa"wads of cotton stuck between his toes.

Jamil led his team to the part of the burrow that had been designated their living quarters. The burrow was honeycombed with these small caverns, which is where the dremecks lived. They did not live in family groups, but were grouped together by age.

"Time is running out," Jamil said to them. "Kirkov's birthday is thirteen days from today anda""

He stopped, glared at Tycho, who was nodding and smiling. "Turn on your translator!"

Tycho nodded and smiled.

Jamil glowered. "I said, turn on your translator!" He pointed.

Tycho, looking guilty, hastily switched it on. "Sorry, Jamil. I keep forgetting."

"We were supposed to act as military advisers to an army," Jamil continued. "Now I find out we are the army! What are we supposed to do? Fight the whole d.a.m.n war by ourselves? Is there any way we can get hold of Xris?" He looked hopefully at Darlene.

"It would be difficult," Darlene said. "And what good would it do? Xris can't help us. Not from prison."

"He might be able to contact the person who hired us."

"We all know who hired us. Someone very high in the court," Darlene emphasized. "Very, very high. And if we approach this person about this job, my guess will be that this person will deny ever having heard of us or the dremecks."

Jamil sighed and shook his head in wordless exasperation. He ma.s.saged, ineffectually, his aching neck and shoulders. "The question is, what do we do now?"

"I have a question." Raoul raised the nail polish. "Why didn't the kinga""

"We don't know that," Darlene interrupted.

"I beg your pardon. Why didn't this very, very high-level court person hire an army, if that's what is needed?"

The Little One twitched one shoulder and gave his nose a violent rub.

"Thank you," Raoul said to his friend. "Now that you explain it, I understand."

"I'd be interested to hear that answer," Jamil stated.

"Would you?" Raoul appeared pleased. "The Little One says that His Majesty the King must not seem to be in the business of overthrowing the governments of other worlds, particularly those worlds that are not in the Empire. No matter how badly they need overthrowing."

"That makes sense," said Quong.

"Of course it does," said Darlene. "If the Dremecks themselves overthrow the dictator, His Majesty is observed watching the game from the sidelines, applauding politely. He steps forward after it's all over to present the trophy and his congratulations, then the Royal Navy comes in to sweep out the stands and dismantle the goalposts."

"Which is all fine except that now we have the dremecks watching the game from the sidelines, applauding politely!" Jamil growled.

"Why don't we hire an army?" Raoul suggested. He sighed. "I've longed to be a soldier. Tight-fitting uniforms ... large guns..."

"Do you have any idea how long hiring an army would take or the logistics involved or the money it would cost?" Quong asked, amused.

"Not to mention the fact that we're back to obfuscating the high-level people," Tycho pointed out.

"Implicating high-level people," Quong corrected. "Though the other might also apply."

"Thank you, Doctor." Tycho changed color with pleasure, his skin deepening to a rich brown. "It would be said, and rightly so, that those at the top are the only ones who have the money and the means necessary to bring in an army."

The Little One shrugged his shoulders and lifted his hands to the air.

"You are wrong, my friend," Raoul said in a stern tone which caused everyone to regard him with amazement.

"We cannot simply pack up and go home. We cannot leave these poor dremecks to suffer under this oppressive regime."

"Raoul, I'm proud of you," said Darlene, impressed. "I didn't think you'd care about them."

"Not care!" Raoul's eyes opened wide, carefully, so as not to disturb his mauve eyeliner. "Not care! My dear Darlene, any dictator who would force people to dress in those ... those ill-fitting, shapeless, and dingy coveralls"a" he shuddereda""should not only be overthrown but should be made to wear Harry's suit for a year as punishment."

"I agree with Raoul. Not about the coveralls," Quong amended hurriedly. "But that it is our duty to help these people. I find the fact that they refuse to kill even in their own defense quite commendable. Humanity would be better off if we had evolved believing in a similar credo."

"No, we'd all be living in burrows beneath the ground," Jamil countered. "But I agree. I'd like to overthrow this Kirkov. Not only for the stake of the dremecks, but because the humans on Del Sola"the ordinary humans, not the ones aligned with His Eminencea"don't have life so great. The wire-heads watch and listen and spy on every thought."

"And we should not forget that we are being paid handsomely for this a.s.signment and that we will lose a lot of money if we quit," Tycho observed.

"You remind me so much of your brother," Quong said in emotional tones.

"Thank you." Tycho nodded and smiled.

"Perhaps we could convince the humans to join the fight," Darlene suggested. "They're not happy about the current situation, at least the ones I saw at the s.p.a.ceport."

They won't. Why? Because they're scared," Jamil said flatly. "Good and scared. You saw them skulking around with their heads down, afraid to look directly at anything in case they might be looking at the wrong thing. Kirkov's smart. He doesn't shoot rebels or throw dissidents in prison. He ships them off-planet with bad job references and worse credit ratings. They're ruined financially; they lose their homes, their families break up. Shooting them would be the quick way out. And so, to keep living the good life, these people have to support him. And they don't dare cause trouble."

"But if we could persuade the dremecks to rebel," Quong suggested, "then the humans might join them."

"Maybe." Jamil was skeptical. "But that's one h.e.l.l of a big if."

"War of the Worlds," said Darlene.

They all stared at her.

"War of the Worlds," she said excitedly. "I read once that on ancient Earth, actors performing a play that was being broadcast by radio actually convinced people that they were under attack by aliens from Mars. There was panic. People armed themselves. Some even committed suicide, rather than let the aliens capture them."

"Considering that at the time the only life to be found on Mars were one-celled organisms, this was quite a feat," Quong observed.

"Isn't that interesting," Jamil said sarcastically. "Now that we've played a round of Media Trivia, can we get back to the problem at handa""

"But that's the answer," Darlene said insistently. "We stage a made-for-vid revolution."

Jamil scowled and Tycho's hand hovered uncertainly near his translator. Only Quong appeared interested, but that may have been from a medical standpoint. Raoul was waving his hands over his toenails to induce them to dry.

Darlene carried on, undeterred. "We convince the inhabitants of Del Sol that the dremecks are staging a coup d'etat. We don't have to hire an army. We train the dremecks to act like an army. The first thing we do is capture the vid stationa""

Now, wait a minute," Jamil cut in. "Kirkov knows the dremecks. He knows that they're pacifists. He's not afraid of thema""

"Yes he is!" Darlene stated emphatically. "I'll bet my share of this paycheck on it. Most beings in the galaxy are naturally xenophobic. We're afraid of all foreigners, of anyone different from ourselves."

"I know that I find most of you extremely frightening," Tycho said helpfully.

"Think about it," Darlene continued. "That long-ago actor caused people to fear aliens they had never even seen! Humanity hasn't changed that much over the centuries, unfortunately. The guards at the airport carry stun-sticks when they guard the dremecks, keep them chained together. If they're not afraid, then they're nervous."

"Guilty conscience," Quong added succinctly. "The dictator of Del Sol and his followers know deep down that they themselves would rebel should they find themselves in a situation similar to the one in which they have placed the dremecks. Kirkov expects the dremecks to rebel, for it is what he would do himself. He will readily believe it when it happens."