Freehold by William C. Dietz Page A

ridge. One long, pointed ear lay flat against his head. The other ended in a stump, sliced off by a pirate, accounting for both his passionate dislike of that breed, and his nickname among the troops, “Old One Ear.” His long tail twitched back and forth like a cat's before wrapping itself around his waist.
    As Roop had grown older, he had of course learned about the academic debate surrounding Il Ronnian physiognomy. Some experts believed the alien's devil-like appearance accounted for the almost instant dislike each race had for the other. They suggested that, after thousands of years of exposure to a negative image closely resembling the Il Ronn, most people couldn't view them objectively. Of course others disagreed, pointing out that from all evidence the Il Ronn had preceded man into space by thousands of years, and had perhaps visited Earth, treating primitive man with something less than kindness and thereby earning their reputation for evil. Still others said the resemblance was purely coincidental, and the enmity between the two races was the natural product of conflict between two aggressive, expanding empires, now separated by only a thinning band of unclaimed frontier worlds.
    But regardless of who was right, for Roop, the Il Ronn were inextricably linked with that illustration in his father's Bible, and the fear and loathing that went with it. Nonetheless, he drew himself up straight, forced what he hoped was a confident smile and, using his best political manner said, “Hello, I'm Senator Roop. And you are?”
    Feeg didn't reply. Instead, he looked Roop slowly up and down as though examining an interesting specimen at a zoo. Roop felt himself blush as the knot of fear in his gut grew even tighter. Having completed his inspection, Feeg said calmly, “You have accepted payment. You have failed. Explain.”
    Mustering what dignity and courage he could, Roop said, “And why should I explain anything to you? I don't even know who you are.”
    Feeg regarded him thoughtfully, and then said, “I am the one who will have you killed if you do not answer my question.” His two bodyguards stepped forward, their assault rifles at port arms.
    “You wouldn't dare!” Roop replied.
    Feeg smiled—a terrifying sight, because as his thin lips pulled back they revealed rows of carnivorous teeth. He looked slowly around the horizon. “Oh, but I would dare. I am sure many people are lost in the desert each year and never found. Hover cars break down, radios fail, people become tired and confused and wander off into the sand, never to be seen again.” Feeg looked toward the invisible horizon as though he could see Roop wandering hopelessly into the wastelands. “Now,” he continued, his voice as hard as durasteel, “answer my question. Why have you failed?”
    Roop began to shake. First his hands, then his knees, then his whole body until his teeth chattered. He knew that if he wasn't careful he'd lose control of his bowels, and the thought scared him even more. Oh god, why had he gotten into this? “I ... I don't know what you mean,” he said. “I've done everything I was asked to do. How ... how have I failed?”
    Feeg's tail unwrapped from his waist to twitch back and forth in astonishment. Hands clasped behind his back, Feeg slowly circled the human as he spoke. “How have you failed, pathetic one? Would you call recruitment of an entire brigade of mercenaries into the citizenry of your planet a success? You were ordered to weaken this planet's ability to defend itself, not strengthen it.” Feeg stopped directly in front of Roop, his eyes glowing like red-hot coals in the darkness.
    “And I did,” Roop argued desperately. “All along I've encouraged them to argue, debate and generally waste time. And it would've worked, too, if the mercenaries hadn't offered their services for free. How ... how was I supposed to counter that?”
    “The absurd machinations of your ridiculous government are of no interest to