The half-humanoid, half-reptilian Siirts were a gentle people, if rather low on the intelligence scale. They were employed by the Big Market Corporation as guards and police, but generally were too easily distracted and too friendly to be terribly effective. Laureline knew that many of the merchants who wanted reliable security simply hired their own—like Igon Siruss. Siirts loved meeting new people, and their culture was based on a philosophy called Unbugalia, which essentially meant: “The more happy people there are, the greater the happiness.” The throngs coming to Big Market, Laureline mused, doubtless made these rather kooky beings ecstatic. They didn’t see any of the profit, though. Their species had nothing resembling “currency.” As a result, it was difficult to keep them employed.
On the tower, a yellow-skinned Siirt guard watched Laureline getting out of the bus. His gaze moved to the men in ponchos following her. He lifted a three-fingered hand—to wave, Laureline thought. He did precisely that, but then a thought seemed to occur to him, and he placed his hands down on the very impressive rapid-fire weapon standing beside him and moved it in their direction.
CHAPTER FIVE
Laureline smiled brightly and shouted up at the anxious Siirt, “Hi there! No need for that! I know, no idling here. Not to worry, we won’t be long!”
Her friendly greeting made him hesitate. She reached behind her, grasped her weapon, and took aim at the guard. A shockwave emerged from the barrel of the gun that securely planted a small dart in the Siirt’s scrawny bare chest.
At the same instant, the men removed their ponchos, revealing bulky hardware strapped to their bodies. Captain Zito—though Laureline had heard him called “Captain Z” from time to time by his team—stood beside her, carrying a flat computer with a wide screen. Swiftly Laureline detached part of her weapon and flipped it onto the screen’s back. Zito turned to the left, and then the right.
The Siirt in the watch tower mirrored his movement.
“Okay,” said Zito, “I’ve got control of our skinny friend here. We’ll be able to see everything he can.”
Laureline had seen this before, of course, but she could never quite suppress a flicker of amusement whenever a Con-Dart was utilized not just to render the enemy harmless, but also to, essentially, conscript him. How efficient the resulting “forced friendly” actually turned out to be was dependent on two factors—how easy the target was to manipulate, and how proficient his controller was.
Siirts, not being the sharpest knives in the drawer, were extremely malleable, and Captain Z was clearly an old hand at this. Laureline suspected that the captain was an old hand at a lot of things, and she wondered why he wasn’t a higher ranking officer. She looked at the sharp face, the determined jaw, and cool eyes and decided she didn’t really need to know.
Laureline turned her attention to the target, impressed with how smoothly—well, comparatively smoothly—the gangly Kirian native returned to his weapon and, as far as anyone watching was concerned, resumed his loyal watch over the compound.
“Let’s go,” Captain Z ordered, and the team returned to the bus.
A few moments later, they had rejoined Major Gibson. He and his men stood around the steel door of the eastern gate. A soldier was scanning the door as Laureline jumped off the bus, frowning as he examined the readout.
“It’s as we expected—the doorframe is booby-trapped all the way around, sir,” he reported.
Gibson nodded. He turned to Laureline, handing her a large, long carrying case, and then checked his watch.
“Drop in twelve minutes, Sergeant,” Gibson said.
Laureline nodded. The taciturn, focused Zito stood next to her as the rest of Gibson’s team pressed flat against the rough red stone of the outer wall, and Laureline glanced over at his screen.
Zito was now seeing through the eyes of the puppet Siirt up on the watchtower, who was gazing at the compound on the other side of the wall. Laureline smothered a grin, an expression that wasn’t really appropriate at this tense moment, as she watched tourists in virtual reality gear amble about haphazardly, pointing at marvels invisible to her gaze and picking up things that weren’t there. It looked like some kind of amateur improvisational theater performance.
“Adjusting view,” Zito informed the group. He turned the dial. As Laureline continued to watch the Siirt-Cam, the actual desert inside the stone walls disappeared, to be replaced by the busy consumer paradise and colorful chaos of Big Market.
“Excellent,” Gibson approved. “Activate the guard’s monitoring camera and locate Major Valerian”
“Aye, sir,” Zito replied promptly. The point of view shifted as the Siirt’s head turned to regard the controls. He—and now Zito—were seeing through the point of view of a camera drone the size of a small bird, which rose, hovered, darting about, then dove downward, zipping through the unreal souk in search of Valerian.
One of the soldiers stepped forward and marked the outlines of a rectangle on the enormous metal of the gate’s door with a laser. With a quick tap of a button, the rectangular portion of the iron barrier vanished, becoming a human-sized doorway.
“Time for you to go shopping,” Gibson said.
Laureline nodded. She donned the helmet and gloves two of the soldiers held out to her. Gripping the carrying case she had been given earlier, she slipped through the door.
And then she, like Valerian, was in Big Market.
Big Market, Valerian thought, was overwhelming. He had no idea how anyone could focus long enough to purchase anything. It filled the vast enclosure to overflowing with nearly a million merchant stalls and millions of things one could purchase. He was presently on the Market’s main street, open to the sunlight, but a quick glance around revealed that there were not just myriad shops, there were myriad levels. A lift zipped by to one side, ferrying beaming customers to new sights.
The cacophony of aliens of every description hawking things that Valerian couldn’t even imagine filled his ears. Here, under a carved stone arch, a pale humanoid with an elongated head was selling small clouds, securely fastened by small rope lassos about their forms. A little storm was gathering inside one of them as Valerian passed.
A large blue alien with tiny eyes on large stalks stood wearing very human-looking clothes upon which were affixed an inordinate number of buttons. His entire shop, in fact, appeared to consist of nothing but buttons, and as Valerian passed, the merchant waved to him and held up a small button that had an image of Earth on it. Valerian felt an unexpected tug; most of his youth had been spent on Earth, but he hadn’t been back in years. If anyplace was home to him now, it was the Intruder.
“Monoliths!” shouted a merchant, an alien about three feet tall, squat, with eyes the size of Valerian’s fists on either side of his head and a shock of wildly frizzy hair. “Get your monoliths here!”
Valerian frowned, seeing about a dozen solid black rectangles propped up against a wall. At first glance they were just slabs, but he found his gaze being held by them. He felt oddly drawn to them, wondering what it would feel like to touch them.
Abruptly Valerian shook his head, snapping out of it. He had a job to do.
The flow of the tourist group ferried Valerian to the vicinity of a middle-aged couple dressed in clothing that managed to be both garish and frumpy. Their faces were largely obscured by their helmets, but the woman’s shocking candy-red hair peeked out from beneath. Valerian thought he could imagine their appearances just fine judging simply by their body language.
And their conversation.