Chapter Thirty-Eight
Your enemy is not really defeated as long as he still exists. He can always regroup, gain strength and strike a lethal blow.
—Mutati Saying
In a foul mood, the Zultan Abal Meshdi strolled along an arcade, a circle of arches and columns around the Citadel’s grandest, most famous fountain. Morning sunlight played off the cascading water, but even the beauty and serenity of this special place did not calm him. He had affairs of state on his mind, matters to consider away from the clatter and clutter of advisers and attendants.
Inside the deep, aquamarine water of the fountain’s pond, twenty hydromutatis swam energetically, whirling and swooping in a traditional water dance while metamorphosing from exotic sea creatures to asexual humanoids with fins and tails. As they concluded the performance, the hydromutatis merged into one large gargantufish—an ancient, exotic life form—and leaped over the fountain with elegant power, landing in water on the other side with hardly a splash.
The Zultan was a terramutati himself, the most common form of his species. This gave him some advantages, but also presented him with a number of challenges. He was not telepathic like hydromutatis, and could not fly like aeromutatis. The three groups were essentially political factions, cooperating as they needed to while constantly competing for business advantages and political offices.
Feeling sudden heat from a medallion that hung around his neck, the Zultan knew that an important message had arrived for him. Since he was not in his throne room, and had prohibited anyone from calling upon him out here where he liked to relax, he knew it had to be something critical. During this time of war, the news could be really bad. It probably was, he decided gloomily, as he watched the gargantufish swim around the pond.
Transmitting a thought signal, he felt the information materialize in his brain, just five concise words:
Earth destroyed by our Demolio
Summoning additional details, a holovideo appeared in the air before the Zultan’s eyes, with three-dimensional color and percussive sound. Taken by the heroic Mutati outrider who piloted the doomsday weapon into the planet, cracking it open, the holovideo survived because he transmitted a signal to a Mutati deep-space observation post.
Elation filled Abal Meshdi. Here at last was proof positive that his gallant outriders could get past Human security and destroy one of their most beloved planets, the ancient cradle of their despicable civilization. Prior to its destruction Earth had not sustained much population, having declined over the centuries as people emigrated to other worlds. It had retained symbolic value to the Merchant Prince Alliance, however, and its loss was sure to inflict serious emotional distress on them.
Tears of joy formed in his eyes. He was so proud of the brave Mutati outrider who had completed this suicide mission, submitting to the will of God On-High and permitting himself to be consumed in the detonation of the planet.
We will build a monument to him in this Citadel, the Zultan thought, a fine statue showing him riding the Demolio into the heart of Earth, and the planet shattering.
The image pleased him immensely.
Heroes had stepped forth from the very beginning of the doomsday program, even in the years of the testing process. The outriders—all volunteers from the three factions of Mutati society—understood their collective fate clearly, and it served to energize them, the opportunity to take the ultimate trip to eternal glory. From the outset, the Zultan had received more volunteers than he needed, enabling his officers to select only the best candidates, improving the odds of success.
Many of the volunteers wore Adurian minigyros, which the Zultan distributed in large numbers to the populace, so that they would better understand the decisions he made. The devices made them closer to God On-High, a benefit that the Zultan had thus far concealed from the Adurians, to keep them from raising the price.
The telepathic hydromutatis, who were prohibited from intruding on the Zultan’s inner thoughts, seemed to have done so anyway, because they divided again and began to perform a celebratory dance, skimming along the surface of the pond like race boats, then diving and soaring up out of the water into the air and diving back down, in perfect synchronization. Abal Meshdi was actually pleased that they had violated a rule this time, since they were making him feel even better. Perhaps he would not punish them much for their infraction.
Presently, the twenty hydromutatis assumed their natural appearance structures, masses of swimming, fatty tissue with tiny heads. They formed a circle in the water and spun faster and faster until they were a blur and the water churned like a large blender. They were the fastest, most impressive swimmers he had ever seen. But they seemed agitated, undoubtedly because they knew what the Zultan had in mind. They were telepaths after all, and continued their unlawful acts, using their powers to violate the serenity and privacy of his royal thoughts.
From a fatty fold of his body, Abal Meshdi brought forth a black jolong rifle and fired it into the pond, causing the water to run purple. He peppered the fountain with projectiles, then paused. One hydromutati continued to move. It twitched and writhed, and tried to make its way to an edge of the pond.
Meshdi pressed the firing button, but his weapon jammed. With a curse, he attempted to hurl the rifle like a spear, but it flipped over and over in the air. His aim was fortunate, though, because the butt of the rifle hit the hydromutati squarely on the head, knocking brain matter loose and causing the creature to stop moving entirely.
Twenty bodies floated on top of the purple pond now, with fountain spray misting over them. Meshdi thought it was a surprisingly pretty sight, despite the unfortunate circumstances.
The Zultan shook his head in dismay. He didn’t like to kill such beautiful, perfect organisms, but they had violated his rules and he could not tolerate that, no matter their intention to help him.
He accepted no excuses from anyone, even if this resulted in political repercussions, the inevitable complaints from hydromutati leaders. Rules were rules, after all.
With that matter resolved for the moment, Meshdi thought about beautiful Mutati planets that had been overrun by aggressive Humans over the centuries, worlds that had ample water, breathable atmospheres, and stable, circular orbits. Aside from their constant business pursuits, the merchant princes invariably targeted the most scenic planets for takeover. In this regard, Humans and Mutatis were similar—they enjoyed picturesque landscapes, seascapes, and mountainscapes.
While Mutatis could adapt to virtually any environment or climate, Abal Meshdi resented having to retreat. Centuries ago, the two races had tried to live side by side, but problems soon ensued. Humans were exceedingly combative, belligerent, and offensive. Even with the aid of anti-allergenic implants, Mutati revulsion against disgusting Humans could not be overcome. There had been numerous battles and wars for control of particular planets and star systems. With inferior technology, the Mutatis were usually beaten back and driven out, and finally sought refuge on planets that were of little interest to Humans.
It had been a long, humiliating journey, harmful to the pride of the Mutati people, but that was about to change. Earth was a first step, and there would be many more.
The Demolio—his doomsday weapon—made that possible. Payback time.
While the Zultan had been thinking of annihilating the Humans, he had wavered a bit recently, since his own son Hari’Adab disagreed with his aggressive approach. Perhaps Meshdi would simply teach the Humans a lesson by killing only a few hundred billion of them and wiping out half their planets.
God On-High will guide me.