Freehold by William C. Dietz

blown sand. As he walked to the car, Feeg inhaled deeply of the clean night air. Yes, he thought to himself, it is a planet worthy of our race. Beautiful expanses of clean sand, clinging like warm flesh to the planet's skeleton of rock, all of it fed by veins and arteries filled to overflowing with the holy fluid. It was, in fact, a nicer planet in some ways than the Il Ronnian home world. All things considered, Freehold's mineral wealth would be like an additional blessing, an omen of good things to come, a blessing on the race. But first he must cleanse it of all impurities, much as a priest must wash the sacred symbol of his Sept before offering it to those assembled before him. The analogy pleased Feeg as he imagined himself presenting a miniature Freehold to the Council of One Thousand. But first he must deal with the humans. Already they fought among themselves, making his task easier. How stupid they were! Still, they could be stubborn, these humans. They had been underestimated before. He scowled as he climbed into the car, nodding to the two bodyguards appropriate to his rank, and growled at the driver. “You have your orders, execute them.” Without a word the driver put the car in gear, goosed the turbines, and skimmed off across the sand.
    Senator Austin Roop swore continuously as he paced up and down in front of his hover car. He cursed the sand under his feet, the stars in the sky, and the goddamned pointy-tailed Il Ronnians who'd asked him to meet them in the middle of the night. No, damn it, the coded radio transmission had ordered him to come! How dare they? Who did they think he was, some errand boy? He'd done what they asked, hadn't he? Why treat him this way? The more he thought about it the madder he got. But deep down, below the anger, he was afraid. Not just a little bit afraid, like when he got up in front of the Senate, but gut sick afraid. It was an emotion he didn't feel often. Time after time he'd faced big game on a variety of planets, most of it quite lethal, and on many of those occasions he'd been scared. But never like this. He stopped pacing for a moment to listen. But all he heard was the pinging of his hover car as hot metal cooled in the night air. He could jump in it and go. There was nothing to stop him. But the thought of double-crossing them scared him just as much as did the thought of facing them. For all he knew, some of them were out there in the dark watching him that very moment. The mere thought sent a shudder through him. He resumed his pacing, but darted glances every now and then into the dark surrounding him. Damn them ... why did it have to be clear out here, in the middle of the night? Looking at them in the daylight was bad enough ... but at night ... Suddenly, he heard the tell-tale whine of distant turbines and whirled to face the sound. He composed himself slowly and carefully, just as he'd done a hundred times before speaking in the Senate. But try as he might, he couldn't lose the knot of fear that twisted his guts when the hover car appeared out of the night.
    He flinched as the car swung insultingly close, spraying him with sand. The hover car's door whined open, releasing a blast of heated air and spilling light out onto the sand. Feeg was silhouetted for a moment as he stepped out. Roop felt his guts twist. He'd met Il Ronnians before, but he'd never get used to the way they looked. He remembered spooling through his father's Bible as a little boy, looking at the 3-D illustrations, and how the chill had run down his spine when he came to the one depicting the devil. Feeg was that illustration come to life. He was tall, standing on long, spindly legs, which ended in cloven hoofs that seemed to float on top of the sand. His skin was leathery and hairless. Eons before, its reddish hue had provided Feeg's ancestors with protective coloration on a world of red sand. His skull was bony, his deep-set eyes hidden by the deep shadows cast by a prominent supraorbital