construction of the century. The journalists didn't have their yearning satisfied and they had to limit themselves with their own commentaries. These commentaries were not particularly benevolent.
By 18:00 the last train with passenger hostages left the platform. About eighty employees stayed in the spaceport — they were necessary for the crucial spaceport's systems to function. Five hundred armed fighters and several thousand Weian zealot peasants also stayed.
Also by 18:00, next to the spaceport the 11th division had almost finished d disembarking. Heavy helicopters were landing right on the fields behind the company director's villa, amphibian tanks were crawling out of their bellies and sturdy guys in bulletproof uniforms were jumping out.
Bemish walked down where the same two counter-intelligence guys were meeting the division commander — colonel Rogov, short and sturdy like a ball bearing.
'I think,' The colonel said, 'that Mr. Bemish should also take part in the planning of the operation. As I understand, you have constructed this spaceport and you should know how to infiltrate the buildings with minimal losses.'
'Yes,' Bemish nodded, 'I've already thought about it. For instance, there is a place where the monorail station's ventilation chutes are right next to a cave system. It wouldn't be difficult to enter the caves about three kilometers away from here. We had to reinforce them during construction.'
'That's excellent,' the colonel rejoiced.
'Unfortunately,' Bemish continued, 'a man named Ashinik was my closest assistant. He is now heading the terrorists and he remembers this story with the caves quite well.'
One of counter-intelligence officers swore loudly.
'What do you think about toxic gases?' the colonel asked.
'I have to disappoint you. A possibility of chemical attack or, more precisely, an explosion or damage of rocket elements emitting toxins has been taken into account during the construction. A monitoring system would automatically turn an alarm on, block buildings off and start detoxification.'
The colonel bit his lips for a while.
'I am not a military man,' Bemish said, 'but I think that if you want to kick the terrorists out of the spaceport, the only way to do it is to drive tanks in and shoot at everything that shoots or surrenders.
'It looks like you are correct,' the colonel said.
'What losses will you sustain?' the envoy asked the colonel.
'Well, I don't think that this party of people's freedom will fight all that well. It's just civilians…'
Bemish got suddenly irritated at the military man.
'The zealots can't fight. But if I were you, I wouldn't be in a hurry to classify Aloms as civilians…'
'Aloms?!'
Bemish looked at him, surprised.
'I mean Kissur's Aloms. It's a mountain people who… Listen, haven't you been briefed about the Assalah takeover?'
'No,' the commander said, 'I don't know the details. The assistance request said that it was a rebellion of Weian zealots who had won the elections.'
'Generally, it's correct,' the envoy shrugged his shoulders. 'The majority of people in the spaceport are zealots.'
'So, is the spaceport occupied by Aloms and not by the indigenous people of the Empire?' the colonel specified with unnatural lack of expression.
'What difference does it make for you?' the exasperated envoy shouted.
Bemish shuddered.
'Sorry, colonel, but how do you know about the difference between Weians and Aloms?'
'Yes,' the colonel said, 'what's the difference? We follow orders.'
It was already dark, when Bemish, having finished briefing colonel Rogov on the spaceport's specific details, walked into the garden.
Bemish had never run into the Federation Army before even though he had recently become acquainted to the Federation Counter Intelligence. He liked colonel Rogov — Bemish had considered military people to be much more stupid. One thing astounded him. There were dozens of populated planets in the Galaxy. Weia was located in the backyard of the civilized world. How could a Federal Army colonel know about the enmity between Weians and Aloms who had conquered the former a number of times? When did they start teaching galactic ethnography in military academies? Even he, Bemish, had needed quite a bit of time to realize how deep was the gap between the peoples that outsider observers considered to belong to the same race — the 'Empire people' and the 'mountainous barbarians.'
Bemish stood and looked at the night bustling with people. Somewhere an engine yelped piteously like a cat that somebody kept stepping on the tail. The crackling of cicadas mixed with rustling of faraway power stations. That's it. Tomorrow this division would throw all its force at the construction — he had dedicated the last two years of his life to this construction and he had put his soul into it. They would hack the roadways with their tanks, turn buildings and terminals into dust. Crazy zealots would face the tanks with prayers and spells; they would be sure that all this machinery was simply demonic phantoms and that their leaders would rise into the air and turn the demonic fighting machines into paper and their grenade launchers into beans…
Tomorrow Kissur would die. Because even if a termite shell's direct hit didn't flatten him into the floor and a fan laser burst didn't find him and a shock wave didn't roll over him, he would still kill himself. It would happen because Kissur always lived as if he had died a long time ago. Never would Kissur let himself be taken alive by commandos called in by Shavash.
And then somebody just to Bemish's left said in Alom,
'Do you have a fag?'
Bemish turned there in astonishment.
A Federation soldier sitting next to a fire silently flicked a pack of cigarettes to his comrade.
Bemish rushed to the soldier. The latter was clicking his lighter but having seen a civilian he stood up to attention hurriedly.
'What have you just said?' Bemish asked.
'I asked for a smoke, sir,' the soldier was speaking English now. He spoke it with a strange but quite familiar accent.
A horrible hunch entered Bemish's mind.
'Are you Alom?' he asked sharply in Alom. The soldier was silent.
'Are you Alom?'
Federation soldiers are forbidden to speak foreign languages, sir,' the private replied.
'To the hell with this! What's your name?'
'Khaina, sir.'
Khaina, 'wolf,' was one of the most widely used names among the fighting clans of the mountainous country.
'Whose vassal was your father?'
'He was a vassal of Sarvak clan.'
Sarvak clan! Sarvaks were vassals of the White Falcon clan that Kissur belonged to.
'How many Aloms are in the division?' Bemish asked trying to suppress shudder in his voice.
'I can't know, sir. We are Federation soldiers and we swore an oath to serve the Federation. Aloms do not break their oaths.'
Bemish paused. Ten soldiers sitting around the fire looked at him with curiosity. Almost everybody had blond or reddish hair, wide eyes and eyebrows tips that were almost flying…
'What's your contract salary?' Bemish asked suddenly.
'Three hundred credits a year, sir,' Khaina said.
Three hundred credits a year! The minimal yearly unemployment benefits for a Federation citizen was eleven hundred twelve credits!
Bemish turned and walked away searching for the colonel. Now he understood why the latter knew the difference between Aloms and Weians.
