Prologue
Prologue
Hamil glanced around the corner of the structure, holding his back to the stone wall. His one-meter stature gave him a different perspective than the other beings that walked the streets of Bustera, a thriving colony outpost on Rondian, a newly discovered planet on the fringe of the Apollo Galaxy. The city has grown quickly in the years since its founding, Hamil thought as his wide-set eyes darted from building to building. He had enjoyed his brief stay in Bustera and felt a moment of regret that such a beautiful city would be lost, its inhabitants meeting a terrible fate. But the feeling was fleeting as he thought about the credits in his account and the bonus he would receive once the task was completed. Everyone needed credits, and this was Hamil’s way of earning his.
As the mass transit moved away from the walkway across the cobbled street, Hamil noticed the wooden bench. His lips peeled back in a smile, lifting the whisker-like skin on each side of his mouth. Perfect, he thought, shifting his eyes both ways before darting through a group of shoppers and across the wide roadway. Alarms from a few transpos and shouts in various languages followed him to the walkway and the object that would offer an obscure hiding place.
From beneath his plain, brown cloak, Hamil extracted a silver box. He was the only one at this stop for mass transit, so he seated himself on the bench and leaned forward. Reaching underneath the bench, he carefully set the silver box on the paved walkway and pushed it away from the front and up against the solid side. Something on the walkway moved and caught his eye as he began to sit up. To buy himself some time in order to have it appear as if he was doing something benign, he fiddled with the laces of his boots. Glancing up, he saw an elderly human female with a package in her hand.
Hamil smiled, which had the female gripping her package tighter and moving a step away. He slid off the bench and gestured for her to take his place. She eyed him suspiciously and would only move closer when Hamil took a step back. The woman sat uneasily on the edge of the bench, then shifted until she was, unbeknownst to her, directly over the silver box. A moment later, a dark-skinned human male sat down on the bench next to the female, who continued to scowl at Hamil.
Turning on his heel, he moved down the walkway, amused that the unhappy female would be deceased in a few days, as would most of the residents of this colony. Hamil clasped his small, pudgy hands behind his back as he strolled away from the silver box and its contents. His pointed ears perked up when he heard music coming from an open doorway. This would be as good a place as any to await the arrival of the Vancurelians.
The next mass transit halted in front of the bench. The older human female stepped on and sat behind the operator. Feeling a bit dizzy, she wiped her forehead, coughed into her hand, then placed it on the bar in front of her to steady herself as the transpo moved away from the bench. At the next stop, three young boys climbed on, each using the bar as they mounted the steps onto the mass transit. Several stops later, the old woman disembarked from the transpo and made her way up two flights of stairs to her small rented room, not knowing it to be her last time climbing the steps.
By the end of the week, what the virus hadn’t killed, others did in their panic to escape a self-imposed, quarantined planet, as there was no opportunity to contact the Alliance in order to receive aid. Another three days, and the Vancurelians arrived with ships full of mining equipment. Rondian now belonged to them, being the only beings immune to the disease that had struck four planets in the Alliance. Six Vancurelians met with Hamil in a small structure that used to serve food.
“Credits have been transferred, Hamil. We appreciate the ease with which you have completed this task for us. If you approach my Second in Command, he has your bonus.”
Nodding, his head filled with all he could buy with the credits in his account, Hamil stood in front of the Vancurelian that Banff had indicated.
“And, Hamil,” Banff called, waiting for the Fostling to look at him, then saying, “I know you’ll not say a word about our arrangement.”
Hamil smiled, then felt a prick at the back of his neck.
“Because deceased Fostlings keep their word.”
He felt his knees buckle and the room spin. Landing face up on the floor, Hamil stared, his body paralyzed, at the Vancurelian standing over him. There was a tremendous pain in his chest, then his heart ceased to beat. A last thought floated through Hamil’s brain, The Vancurelians are worse than the Tamplians, and the Alliance’s chances at stopping them grow smaller each day.
“Burn it,” Banff instructed.
The Vancurelians stepped around Banff to take the body. Their tall forms, covered in a gray uniform over their gray, leathery skin, with black boots and a laser on their belts, picked up the Fostling and carried him outside to the deserted cobbled path. One withdrew his weapon, powered it on, and touched it to the cloak of the body. Bright orange flames licked the fabric, and the Vancurelians reentered the structure. A short time later, a breeze blew ashes down the path, dispersing the remnants of a traitor to the Alliance, and the one who set free the virus that claimed the lives of half a million beings.
Part I
