Page 49 of Dax: Gratefully Bonded
That pulled me up short. “The Ranzors? Is the Parliament insane?”
The Ranzors were a species that I’d had very brief dealings with early on in my career. I hadn’t personally experienced any conflict with them, but I knew plenty of soldiers who hadn’t been so lucky. They were tall, powerfully built creatures with thick scales and razor-sharp barbs at the end of their long, muscular tails. To a human eye, they looked much like large lizards, walking on their hind legs, with somewhat crocodilian heads. Their culture expected every single individual to train for battle, beginning from the age of five. By the time they were adults, a single warrior was capable of taking down a Vaskian Swamp Snake – a vicious creature that was eight metres long and could weigh as much as seven hundred kilograms. The larger problem, though, was that they were extremely hot-tempered, and more than one species had found themselves finding out just how good the Ranzors were at fighting, after having inadvertently insulted them somehow.
“The Parliament was reluctant to call on them,” Henderson admitted. “They’re violent, destructive and far more powerful than anything we could ever hope to control. But on the flip side, they also have the physical strength and the fire power to take out a Nwandu battle cruiser. Not many species in the galaxy could manage that without taking heavy damage in the process.”
I grimaced. “And afterwards, when the Ranzors decide they want to eat us for breakfast?”
“Assuming we all survive this war, I believe the Alliance Parliament is planning on offering them a planet as a thank you gift. They’ve been looking at terraforming Salasha 3. It’s on the edge of Alliance space, so it’s close enough for us to claim it as our own, but far enough away that if the Ranzors settle there, they’re not right in our faces the whole time. I believe they’re also hoping to wrestle some kind of peace treaty out of this, but that’s very much a wait and see at this point. And that’s all classified information, at the moment. As far as any civilian is concerned, we’re taking in refugees from Hazharu due to an attack by the Nwandu. That’s it. That’s all anyone gets to know.”
“Understood, sir,” I said. Then, as a precaution, I turned to Dax. “You hear that, Dax? You are to follow Henderson’s orders both regarding discussing this with civilians, and in any actions to help organise the refugees.”
“Yes, sir,” Dax replied seriously.
That did raise a few questions in my own mind, though. “You don’t see Dax as a security threat?” I asked Henderson.
“I’ve worked with Kade enough to have learned that any dimari is largely an extension of their owner, as far as security risks are concerned. But on that note, any breach of regulations by Dax will be held as your responsibility. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir,” I said, making a few mental notes about what orders I was going to have to give Dax, to make sure he behaved appropriately. It shouldn’t be too hard, though. He was going to be with me the vast majority of the time, and as far as missions went, this was a relatively low risk one.
“All right. Let’s get you a team. Let me see who’s available…”
Half an hour later, I was standing at parade rest alongside four eager faces as Henderson completed his briefing. It was a diverse team; Private Soll was a Wasop, only four feet tall with a starburst pattern of black stripes across his face. Private Denny was a Solof, her skin such a dark shade of purple it lookedalmost burgundy. Private Nichols was human, the youngest of the group, having only recently completed his training. And Sergeant Len was a Denzogal woman, eight feet tall and as muscular as any of the men of her species, with fur of a smoky brown colour.
“The Halagal council is very concerned about tracking where their citizens have ended up,” Henderson was saying, “so compiling a list of the residents of the camp is going to be one of your first priorities – after ensuring the refugees have access to basic food and medical supplies, of course. A delivery of all-weather tents will be arriving this afternoon, but I’ll leave the exact arrangement of the camp up to you, depending on the topography of the park. Any other supplies, you’re going to have to organise yourselves. I simply don’t have the resources to be making any other arrangements for you. Captain Rhodes, I want a report on your progress once a day, at a minimum. And finally…” He paused, glancing apologetically at me, and then turning a stern expression on the rest of the team. “I’m saying this in front of all of you because it’s very important that you’re all on the same page on this issue. And furthermore, what I’m about to say is highly confidential information which is not to be discussed withanyoneoutside your team. Is that clear?”
He waited until a chorus of ‘Yes sir’s echoed back at him.
“Very good. My final order is this; under no circumstanceswhatsoeveris Captain Rhodes to be in possession of a firearm. Everyone understand that?”
“Yes, sir,” everyone replied – including Dax, I noted with interest. Under different circumstances, I might have bothered to be offended. But given how much Henderson knew about my situation, I quickly decided that he was correct in giving the order. The rest of the team had been given a brief rundown on my service history and the fact that I was suffering from PTSD,and I couldn’t even claim that the idea of killing myself that way hadn’t occurred to me.
“All right, then. Best of luck. Now get the hell out of my office,” Henderson finished with a scowl. “I have work to do.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Zeke
“No, you can’t put that tent here,” I said sternly to the Halagal woman. She was carrying a young child on her back, with another one clinging to her skirt. “I told you, it needs to go in line with the others, at the end of the row.”
Though she only came up to my waist, she had a mean glare on her. “Not close enough to the water. We’re staying here,” she said stubbornly, her large nose wobbling as she spoke. Her dark blue skin was blotchy, and I wondered if that meant she was ill. Or maybe she was just exhausted.
“If you set it up here, I’ll just come back and make you move it later,” I warned her. She wasn’t the first person who’d argued with me about where they should be setting up their tents, and a small handful of people had resorted to screaming at me, or throwing objects at my team. To my great admiration, all of the people under my command had maintained a calm andrespectful stance, firmly standing their ground, but also making an effort to empathise with the traumatised people around us.
“Sir, another food truck will be arriving at five o’clock,” Private Nichols reported to me. He was an eager kid, energetic, but disciplined at the same time, and I’d been surprised to learn that he’d been assigned to my team on a personal recommendation from Aiden himself. Apparently, Aiden had worked with Nichols before, and had been impressed enough to think he’d be a help to me.
“Thank you,” I said to Nichols, aware that the Halagal woman had immediately resumed her efforts to erect her tent in the wrong spot. “Make sure everyone has registered their names when they come to get their rations. Get Denny to help you. I want everyone checked,” I insisted. As was usual for any group of people, the vast majority of the refugees were willing to cooperate and do as they were told, but there were always a handful who wanted to push the boundaries. Some were refusing to register on the basis of some conspiracy theory about population control or forced medication in the water, and I wanted to make it clear that no one was going to be given food rations without letting us record their presence here – both on this planet and in this camp in particular.
“Yes, sir,” Nichols said, with a nod, then hurried off.
I turned back to the Halagal woman. “Ma’am, there is not enough space for everyone to spread out where they want to. The tents are going in rows.” I pointed to the more-or-less neat row of tents lined up behind me. “We need to be able to move supplies up and down the rows and leave space for emergency vehicles to access anyone who needs help. You cannot put your tent here.”
The woman threw the tent peg in her hand to the ground in a fit of temper. “Stupid humans!” she spat at me. “You know nothing of our troubles! Our homes destroyed! Our peoplekilled! And now it’s too much to ask to just put my tent near the water? You’re a heartless bastard!”
“Ma’am, I’m well aware of how difficult it’s been for you all. But we need to accommodate hundreds of people, and having everyone-”
“You know nothing of what I’ve been through!” the woman screeched at me. And the words pulled me up as I realised they were the exact same thing I’d said to dozens of people in the past year, railing at them for not understanding the level of pain and trauma I’d been through on Ixralia.
But the woman wasn’t finished. “You think you’ve had a hard time because you’ve been shot, or some shit?” she asked, gesturing to my leg. My limp had been fairly obvious today, and I wasn’t surprised that she’d noticed it. “Do you have children? Have you watched your children cry from hunger? Seen them scream in fear as beasts tore people apart? My sister and my husband are both now slaves of the Nwandu! Our city is in rubble. I’ve not just lost my house, but myentire fucking planet!So don’t tell me you know shit about what I’ve been through!”