Translated by Alyeh Mehin-Goldbaum
Dazimada[1]
Two days later—fifty-one days before the end—Hamestegan[2] was filled with the sharp and unpleasant smell of the pager’s alarm in my nostrils. I was floating in a vivid dream full of clear scenes and very lively smells and didn’t want to wake up. But my second mind had received the jolt from the alarm and was forcibly pulling me out of the dream. Desperately, I tried to remember some of its scenes. The dream was full of violent and bloody events, which were not pleasant at all, but it seemed to be pointing to something important. The dream had a vague and ambiguous[3]reflection in my unconscious first mind that was worth speculating by psychologists. Another burst of the sharp warning smell rose from my communication device. Holding onto the dream had become impossible. In the blink of an eye, the scene I saw in meditation collapsed, replaced by a cold awareness. The nudge from my second mind worked. Awareness flowed through my body in waves, first reaching the muscles of my nose. I opened the damp, wide layers of my nose that had gathered on my face during meditation and flared my nostrils. A cacophony of various smells[4]poured onto the surfaces rich with olfactory receptors. I growled, “I’m awake.”
The stupid communication device rang once or twice more with its stinking alarm before it could process my command scents, and then it fell silent. I raised the bases of my movable eyes. In the dimly lit cell where I resided, the faint light of the pager was flickering. With these eyes, I only saw black and white images of the world. However, that was enough to read the name of the person on the other end of the line. It was Zax. One of the few people my stupid communication device was tasked to call and wake me up for, even during my meditation. I opened my compound eyes. The smart lights in my house gradually brightened in response to the scent of alertness rising from my body, flooding the dark corners around me with green light. I looked at the indicator flashing on the ceiling, showing the time. Not much time had passed since I started my meditation. The long span of Hamestegan hadn’t yet reached its midpoint. I contracted the muscles of my ears and opened their wide, conical flaps, stretched and folded my wings, and stretched my long arms. Then I said, “Connect!”
The connection was established, and Zax’s clear image formed before me. The room where I meditated was the largest space in my home, resembling a bubble with perforated walls. Zax’s massive figure was so large that it almost filled the entire room. Zax was my direct superior in the Security Department. He was a tall, elderly officer from the Suheran race with the rank of colonel, who rarely contacted his subordinates at home unless it was necessary. Clearly, he had something important, contacting me at this hour of the night. There was still some time left before my official work shift began. With his pale complexion and harsh, swift movements, Zax seemed angry. However, this was a typical expression for his race, even at the height of joy. It was evident he was standing in a brightly lit room, as the shadow of his thick bones could be seen through the thin, transparent flesh of his red muscles. This transparency of muscles was a sign of his old age, which he displayed with some showiness in the bright light of his office.
He growled in his rough voice, “I heard that Dazimadas don’t sleep. I’ve been waiting for six minutes for you to wake up.” Zax always envied races like ours, which didn’t need much sleep, as he had to spend half his life asleep due to biological reasons. We, Dazimadas, could fulfill all our psychological needs for dreaming through a few minutes of meditation. Not to mention, part of his annoyance was also because time passed more quickly for Sohorans[5] than for Dazimadas, making six minutes feel much longer to him. I swallowed some of the mucus that had accumulated at the top of my throat during meditation to prepare my vocal cords for speaking. Then I said, “Sorry, boss, I wasn’t sleeping; I was meditating.” My second mind, which found this apology unnecessary, resolved to replace my old pager with a newer model.
Zax, as always when he got excited, stood hunched over and stretched his arms forward. From that angle, he looked more like a quadruped. He leaned towards the camera of his device, causing his three-dimensional image to become distorted. He said, “In half an hour, there will be an important meeting in my office that you must attend. Get here immediately.” Then, like an advertisement, he abruptly exited his office. I knew he had turned off his projector, and my useless communication device couldn’t clear the last received image. I cursed the dealer who convinced me to buy this device with my chest’s olfactory glands. I commanded, “Turn off.”
I put on my green robe and donned the new shiny, horned helmet I had recently bought. There was no time for my daily exercise, so I did a few quick movements on the spot to warm up the muscles in my wings and legs. Then I quickly flew up and slipped into the twisted tunnel through the hatch in the ceiling, which led me out of the building. After changing direction a few times in the curved tube, I reached a brightly lit room that marked the boundary between the inside of the building and the outside. This space was actually a smart gate that recognized the codes of all the building’s inhabitants and only allowed them to pass. If an outsider tried to pass through this luminous chamber, they would be paralyzed by a severe electric shock and remain there until the building’s guards arrived.
When I passed through the gate, I found myself under the night sky of Hamestegan, illuminated by its three moons. My home was at the top of a tall tower. Whenever I emerged from the gate on the tower’s wall, I was closer to the sky of Hamestegan than to the crowded streets below. With a few wing flaps, I covered a short distance and found my narrow flying car in its usual place, hidden under a large, jagged overhang that was part of one of my neighbor’s homes, providing a deep shadow for concealment. It was a regulation of the Security Department to live under cover to avoid retaliation from criminals, without advertising one’s role. My advanced and expensive vehicle, with the department’s red emblem on its nose, was like a flag indicating my position in the department. Therefore, I had to hide it in places like this remote nook at an incredible height in one of the skyscrapers. Its protective shield and navigation system were set to allow only me to enter and drive. So, even if a curious flying citizen found it, they couldn’t cause any trouble.
I hadn’t yet fully tucked my wings in when the vehicle accelerated. I raced through a relatively long distance at a breathtaking speed until I reached a busier part of the sky. I got stuck in the congestion of vehicles and winged citizens and had to move slowly like an old Viamboor[6]. Only a faint shadow of that turbulent dream remained in my mind. I couldn’t remember exactly what I had seen; it seemed to involve a conflict in a temple. Probably a memory mixed with imagination rooted in the early days of my service in the Security Department. Back then, I was still a young and inexperienced soldier, often volunteering for dangerous missions. What had come to mind during meditation was likely traces of memories from that time. Those days of my life were pure battle and pursuit. Escaping from the clutches of bloodthirsty genetic code traffickers and raiding the estates of lords who illegally kept slaves. But I didn’t know why these memories had resurfaced now. Maybe a year of desk work in the city had tired me. A year in Hamestegan was not a short time; we Dazimadas lived only up to thirty years at best, and I had already lived two-thirds of that. Perhaps I was worried that I was getting old and being gradually sidelined from dangerous missions, which was distressing my second mind.
This vague dream revived the bitter memory of my failure in confronting the traffickers in Lowly Town. I longed with all my heart to take on another exciting and dangerous case. But that Dazimada hostage who was killed in the Lowly Town had tainted my entire professional record with the smell of failure. After that hostage was killed, Zax had severely reprimanded me for my recklessness. My second mind was so preoccupied with these thoughts that I moved too slowly and missed an open space that had appeared ahead. My vehicle got stuck among a convoy of slow, lazy Cassowaries[7]. These large, purple, hairy, ostrich-like creatures, which always appeared in large groups in the city’s public spaces, were notorious for their sluggish movement. I skillfully maneuvered my vehicle, trying to find a way through them.
But I was stuck right in the middle of a flock of them. I always wondered why Cassowaries, who were the best builders of fast spacecraft fleets in the galaxy, flew so slowly and calmly? The view in front of me was disappointing. My field of vision was limited on all sides by the mass of fat, barrel-shaped bodies whose metallic coverings gleamed against the moonlit sky. They looked like a picture of a hairy purple ball, reflected many times in broken mirrors. The Cassowaries had gathered their three short, thick legs under their bodies and were huddled three at a time in their hemispherical vehicles. Now they were behind me as well. I knew they didn’t have scent or sound sensors, so I didn’t waste time sending out strong smells or honking. The nervous system of these creatures wasn’t adapted for flight. That’s why they always flew in groups. The presence of dozens of other Cassowaries around them gave them a sense of security. Even then, they had to put their three minds together to navigate a slow-moving vehicle. I didn’t know the details, but I knew that they considered the use of computers and artificial intelligence for navigation to be bad luck.
Reluctantly, I coiled my tail and put the vehicle on autopilot. I stretched three of my arms towards a box hidden under my seat, which used the extra heat from the engine to keep food warm. Zax had rushed me so much that I hadn’t had a chance to eat anything, which was not good at all. During meditation, gas builds up in a Dazimada’s intestines, which if not released by eating a small amount of food, can be quite unpleasant for those around! That is, if their olfactory systems were sharp enough to detect the smell of hunger from the vapors emitted by our digestive tract.
The box was full of raw and unripe foods. After a few minutes of searching, I found what I was looking for. Triumphantly, I pulled my arms out of the box, with a Madalina[8] cake stuck to my suckers. Madalina was a primitive creature that normally had hard bones and a bitter shell. But if kept at a specific temperature for a while, it would swell and transform into a soft, delicious ball. I had imprisoned this one in the box a while ago, and it had now turned into a soft and tasty cake.
When I first opened the box, it tried to hide among its raw and bitter-fleshed peers. But when my suckers finally stuck to its belly, it gave up resistance. It didn’t have a proper nervous system or sense. It only detected dangerous temperatures and smells. I looked at its soft, white belly skin and then bit into it with pleasure. Its strong, sweet scent filled my nostrils and flooded my mind with distant memories. My open vehicle moved so slowly that the wind didn’t even stir my mane, let alone carry away the pleasant smell of the cake.
I remembered the days I spent my military training in the barren deserts of a distant planet. A place that didn’t even have proper water. My only pleasure there was eating these cakes, which would quickly turn into a ball full of nectar in the specific heat of the desert sands. Then my mind jumped to past memories. The time when I completed my last important mission on the battlefield. The days I led the operations to clear out bandits in the asteroid belt of the Pleiades system[9], and our company’s cook, grateful for saving his life once, prepared these delicious cakes for me…
As I approached an aerial intersection, I had to listen to my second mind and pull away from my memories. The intersections in the next-level streets of the Sky City were areas where entering higher or lower altitudes was permitted. All drivers had to change their flight patterns at these points to make way for others. Fortunately, the Cassowaries were familiar with the rules and did so. A small Farnage,[10] which had been angrily flapping its wings and looking for a way out, belched loudly after emptying its swollen throat pouch, and after this great insult, left the slow-moving, hairy, ostrich-like creatures behind. I slipped through the gap that appeared in the line of Cassowaries and soared into the skies of Hamestegan while enjoying my Madalina.
The strong wind from my accelerating flight carried the cake’s scent away. I spread my wings to shake off the parasites that had settled on my skin during the slow movement in the traffic jam. I quickly overtook several large and heavy vehicles and slowed down again in the crowded line leading to the Security Department. I had saved the last bite of Madalina for this moment.
I swallowed it and once again its scent threw me into distant memories. Memories of the days we fought against the bloodthirsty bandits. The day I managed to defeat their leader in a hand-to-hand combat, and the day I earned a higher rank and gained fame among my colleagues for my bravery. I remembered the day my spaceship’s helm was shattered by a missile, and before a merchant ship rescued me from certain death, I wandered in space for a long time. I also remembered the day I was chasing the bandit chief’s spaceship, which led me to a remote and unknown planet, where I rescued a beautiful milkmaid from the clutches of cave-dwelling demons. That was the day I met her remarkable son, with his mysterious book.
In Hamestegan, I tried hard to find a way back to that planet. Back then, I had just started working behind a desk, and access to classified information seemed very exciting. But that part of the cosmos was not mapped. The milkmaid had said that I would never see them again, and I would never understand the secret of that shocking sentence. All of this was written in that book. But it was a secret I shouldn’t speak to anyone about.
As the scent of Madalina faded, the remnants of memories also left my mind, and I returned to the present. A small yellow car sped past me, took a sharp turn, and dangerously maneuvered through the traffic jam. If I had the patience, I would have arrested the driver. Traffic accidents in Hamestegan were common. Just yesterday, there was a report of a terrible accident circulating among the members of the traffic guidance unit at the office. They said one of those mischievous Hunos[11] had tried to overtake a giant Fraspat illegally. The unlucky criminal had turned into a half-burned pile of ash after colliding with one of the Fraspat’s enormous wings. The moment the Hono latched onto the wing of that flying whale, it lost its balance. The massive Fraspat lost control and, after colliding with two vehicles, caused a series of consecutive accidents until one of the security department’s netted cars intercepted it in its fall and ended the disaster.
There was no exact count of the casualties. They said more than twenty citizens were killed. The ambiguity in the number of dead was because one of the vehicles belonged to a gelatinous species, whose bodies constantly divided or merged. Despite not being largely at fault, the Fraspat had to pay a hefty fine for not using safety umbrellas. Particularly, the lawyers of the gelatinous people took advantage and estimated the highest possible number of casualties. All the troubles fell on the security department. I saw how my colleagues struggled to fit the dragon-like body of the Fraspat into the detention center. Unfortunately, the city’s architects who designed the prison belonged to a frugal and somewhat stingy race, who insisted on minimizing costs. However, flying a massive Fraspat in the city’s streets was not a common occurrence.
Seeing the familiar sight of the security department’s building reminded me of Zax’s words. What could have happened to summon me in such a hurry? Amidst the crowded aerial routes that looked like luminous galaxies, the central tower of the department was visible. With its complex, transparent walls and sharp protrusions, it resembled a thorny giant statue. The numerous openings on the building’s exterior led to a large empty space in the center, brightly lit with blue light, where most of the staff and visitors moved. Since all the walls were semi-transparent, the glowing central column could be seen from afar. Almost all the central space functioned like an intelligent elevator. From my angle approaching the building, numerous dark spots in the matte light of the elevator caught my eye. Each spot was the shadow of a being floating in the bright, empty space, moving at different speeds toward their desired floor.
I directed my path to the part of the tower closer to Zax’s office. As always, there was heavy traffic. Except for a few specific races who, due to ritualistic, religious, or biological reasons, did not operate at certain times, the rest of the city’s inhabitants were active at all hours, making the area around the department always busy. When I parked my vehicle on the vertical surface of the magnetic walls, I still had a few minutes left. But knowing Zax’s constant complaints about the tardiness of his officers, I hurried and flew to the nearest entrance.
Zax’s office was closer to the outer wall of the thorny mountain than to its inner sections, so I didn’t have far to go. I passed through a small, round gate alongside a short, gelatinous creature, which tucked its arms and legs inside its body and rolled like a transparent ball along the corridor walls, disappearing around a bend with soft, smooth movements.
As I entered through the building’s gate, a curtain of deep purple light scanned my body. Most species couldn’t see this wavelength, but the compound eyes of Dazimadas, evolved under the light of a planet like dry Dharma, could detect it well. Such luminous curtains were spaced at intervals throughout the corridors of the office. The central computer of the department identified the presence of individuals in the building through the data transmitted by these checkpoints. This made the intelligent transportation system of the tower highly efficient and prevented dangerous and criminal individuals from entering.
As I flew down the corridor, I passed through these luminous screens a couple of times. The small horn-like protrusion on my forehead was significant for this identifying light. The interwoven pattern of the hard tissues of this protrusion was unique to each Dazimada. Zax, like some puritanical members of certain races, found the visible nature of our identity marker indecent and ugly. However, I preferred having the marker on my forehead, manly and visible, rather than hidden in the depths of my intestines like the Sohorans.
The office computer, to regulate the traffic in the corridors, temporarily blocked the route leading to Zax’s office. I waited a bit for the way to clear and then flew over. The corridor was quite empty, and the crowd that had blocked the way was nowhere to be seen, except for a ragged Viambur in the distance, dragging its swollen, wrinkled body along the walls with long fingers. I ran my four arms over my mane and adjusted my horned helmet with the other two, then entered Zax’s office.
Zax was not alone in his room. Among his guests, the one who first caught my attention was a being with a body as red as the Sohorans, adorned with a kind of metallic, scaly belt. It had two legs and four arms, with a face dominated by two large compound eyes. Perhaps because of the strange smell of its body, it seemed to me that this must be an important creature. It was aware of the influence of its scent glands, as it produced a strong and pleasant smell as a sign of welcome. Between it and Zax hovered a floating blue bubble-like translator robot. These robots’ memories were filled with the lexicons and grammar of all known languages, allowing them to translate sentences from any language to any other language. The presence of this translator meant that Zax’s guest could not understand some of our speech.
I was delighted that I could finally speak to someone in the scent language. The official language of the Dazimadas was composed of meaningful scents secreted from scattered glands under our scales. Other races did not understand this language, which is why many gradually replaced it with the official vocal language of the Republic, especially those like myself who were born and raised outside of dry Dharma. I responded to the creature’s greeting with a sweet scent. It was taller than me and had strong, large muscles. A sparkle in its large blue eyes was startling to my primary mind.
Just as I finished observing it, I noticed Zax had another guest. This one was a small, agile creature from the Mogai race,[12] one of the most intelligent cosmic species, evolved on a neighboring planet. All the Mogais I had seen were senior managers in the vast bureaucracy of the Republic. Their intelligence, orderliness, and organizational skills were unparalleled.
The Mogai present at the meeting wore a tight, white outfit. Through the fabric of this delicate garment, I could see its thick, tubular veins. Like all its kind, it had a slender, thin body, with all parts except the head covered in tight clothing. I had seen the bare body of a Mogai once during a bandage application in a skirmish with space pirates, and I knew that their veins lay outside their dense body structure. The scaly skin of Mogais was surrounded by a network of pulsating, semi-transparent tubes. That’s why they always wore traditional garments, believing that the visibility of their yellow, gas-like blood flow through the thin, semi-transparent walls of these tubes was shameful.
The Mogai seemed elderly. The spines on its forehead had reached maximum growth, and there were many wrinkles around its three sharp eyes. The dark purple color of the large, swollen skull appeared black in the red light of Zax’s room. Mogais, born with pale skin that darkened and developed green spots over time, allowed an estimate of their age by the appearance of their bare heads. As my primary mind was busy calculating its age, I felt its presence elicited a wave of trust and optimism in my primary mind, as if I had known it for a long time. When Zax began to speak, I realized my intuitive primary mind was correct about both of them.
The spines on his forehead had reached their maximum growth, and there were many wrinkles around his three penetrating eyes. The color of his large, swollen skull was dark purple, appearing almost black in the red light of Zax’s room. Mogais were born with pale skin that darkened and developed green spots as they aged, allowing one to estimate their age by looking at their bare heads. While my second mind was busy calculating his age, I felt his presence triggered a wave of trust and optimism in my primary mind, as if I had known him for a long time. When Zax began to speak, I realized my intuitive primary mind had guessed correctly about both of them.
Zax addressed me: “As usual, you are quite late. Let me introduce you to our esteemed guests.”
First, he pointed to the scented guest and said, “This is the Holy Mother Arhat, who has left the desert solely to attend this important meeting.”
Then he turned to the red-skinned being and said, “Holy Mother, this is the officer I told you about. One of our best agents. The one who led the Republic’s forces in the Pleiades system.”
Since Arhat did not hear sounds within the range of normal speech, the translator began to emit mild scented waves in her native language, which meant nothing to me. I hoped the translator conveyed the meanings correctly. After the success of my dangerous mission in the Pleiades system, I had gained a brilliant reputation in the major cities of the Republic, and I didn’t want a mechanical translator to tarnish that.
The Holy Mother bent down and licked the scented materials emitted by the translator with her long, tube-like tongue. This was likely a polite behavior indicating that she was paying attention to Zax’s words. I looked into her eyes and sensed that my primary mind did not like her. The Arhats were native to Hamstegan and, due to their reclusive and mysterious lifestyle, were often the subject of folklore. It was generally believed that these creatures were the most devout and pious race in the world. Despite their strange physical and mental abilities, they lived in isolation in the desolate deserts of Hamstegan and rarely left them. None of them had personal names and were all called Arhat, which was apparently their divine title, but no one knew much about it. I had heard a lot about them, but it was my first time seeing one.
The Holy Mother, who seemed to be a high-ranking priestess in the Arhat religious hierarchy, said in the Republic’s scent language: “Pleased to meet you and may the order of the universe bestow great blessings upon you. I believe you know that a critical necessity has drawn me from the pleasant seclusion of my home.”
Her words, by Dazimada standards, were somewhat insulting and overly blunt, but this directness likely stemmed from the peculiar dialect of her race. I heard the metallic voice of the translator rendering her words into a clumsy vocal translation. My second mind, after hearing this completely inaccurate translation, became very concerned about what the translator had conveyed about me to the Holy Mother.
Now it was the Mogai’s turn. Zax, in a tone showing great respect, said: “This is Officer Kumat, Senior Officer of the Central Office.”
Upon hearing the rank of the person standing before me, I was taken aback and gave a salute by folding my arms, as was customary in the Republic. The Central Office was a secretive division of the Republic’s Security Department. It processed highly important and confidential information related to maintaining the balance of power among the hundreds of worlds under the Republic. The anonymous members of this office made decisions on thousands of highly classified matters. The decisions of the Central Office influenced the rise and fall of local dynasties and powers in hundreds of star systems and thousands of civilizations. This administrative body, with its short and ordinary name, was the Republic’s thinking brain. The presence of a Central Office member indicated that the matter at hand was far more important than I initially thought.
Zax was eager to get to the point, but even before he started, my primary mind had guessed what he wanted to discuss. He shifted his massive body into the remaining space in his office and began working with a keyboard mounted on the wall. When he turned his back to me, I noticed the fleshy, wrinkled protrusion clinging to the back of his neck. As always, for no particular reason, my second mind was filled with intense fear. This protrusion was actually a small, fleshy parasite that was congenitally present on the back of all Sohorans. Each of these parasites had a tough, wrinkled sheath of flesh that protected a large nerve bundle.
The parasite’s mind sent tendrils into the host’s nerves, merging with the Sohoran mind so completely that separation was impossible. In essence, every Sohoran had two minds, with part of their thoughts originating from the parasite’s mind. It wasn’t unlikely that the Sohorans’ perception of the world was similar to the Dazimadas’. My kind also had three minds, each responsible for different tasks. The primary mind was located in the upper part of the skull and dealt with aesthetic perception, religious matters, intuition, and abstract concepts. The horned protrusion used for identifying Dazimadas grew directly from this mind and was a remnant of a once-protective plate. The second mind, located below the first and at the back of the head, processed practical, logical, and experiential concepts. The third, smaller mind was situated above the chest and managed biological functions and some automatic movements of the wings and arms.
When Zax turned his back to me, the single yellow eye of the parasite was fixed on me. I felt a vague sense of fear, though I didn’t know why. The presence of races that coexisted with parasites always disgusted me. Finally, Zax grumbled in his native language and stopped fiddling with the keyboard. A three-dimensional image came to life before our eyes. From Arhat’s blank and indifferent gaze to the other side of the room, it was clear that these dancing lights conveyed no meaning to her enormous blue eyes.
The image displayed a coordinated attack by a group of Basogas. They covered their long, slender bodies in robes and moved heavily on a fleshy cushion like snails. In their only thin, weak hand, they held small ray guns. The target of the Basoga attack was a beautiful, small temple with white stone walls gleaming under the sun. The temple was surrounded by intricate networks of delicate golden pipes. These configurations held no particular meaning to me, but it seemed the tangled golden network was sacred to its builders. Soon, small green creatures appeared, sacrificing their lives to try to prevent the Basogas’ destructive assault. These defenders were neither armed nor had significant claws or teeth.
The Basogas sprayed jets of corrosive acid from their long, bony trunks, melting the networks. After the defenders were killed, the Basogas entered the inner courtyard of the temple. Here, a large group of the same creatures sat motionless. The Basogas, with military precision, passed through the dense rows of these praying beings, dropping a large drop of acid on each one’s head. The temple inhabitants did not resist or even move and were all killed. The camera focused on one of them, capturing the scene of a creature with a wide skull, sitting motionless in a ritualistic posture, while its head and chest slowly dissolved in the acid.
Zax said, “This film was taken from the attack on the Bashi temple. Worshipers gathered for their annual ceremony did not resist based on their pacifist beliefs and, as they put it, ‘joined the light,’ which essentially means they were martyred.”
The three-dimensional image vanished for a moment, then was replaced by a scene bathed in yellow light. Another group of Basogas, wearing the same white clothes, were advancing toward a large hole in the ground, seemingly the entrance to an underground building. At the threshold, they encountered resistance from armored, segmented creatures. The defenders wore no clothes, and their shiny black exoskeletons were covered in bright, intricate patterns. From the filming distance, it was impossible to identify their species. Judging by the large yellow sun filling the sky, they might be one of the native races of the planet Surat. The defenders fought bravely, but their only weapon was their large, pincer-like claws. Most were killed by ray beams and acid jets before reaching the crawling Basogas.
The next images, taken after the attack ended and the assailants left, showed melted and shattered statues and artworks, and bodies punctured and burned by acid scattered amid the ruins of the aesthetically pleasing temple. My second mind, which had received precise artistic training, was angered by these atrocities. However, my primary mind was still eager to see more. Finally, a balance was struck between the two, and I said, “Alright, that’s enough. I understand the situation. I’ve heard bits and pieces about these attacks in public media.”
Zax growled, “This situation has damaged our credibility. The public is furious that the Security Department cannot prevent such atrocities. Violence has spread everywhere, and the bloody sectarian clashes are turning into a political crisis.”
I asked, “Do you know who is behind this?”
Zax said, “All these attacks have been carried out by the Basogas. However, these creatures are extremely unintelligent and primitive. There is someone behind the scenes directing them.”
No one disagreed with Zax on this point. The Basogas were infamous throughout the galaxy for their small minds and stupidity. Despite this, they were fierce and brutal creatures who served their masters loyally. Their home planet was unknown, and for centuries warlords had been breeding them as reliable living war machines. Local rulers, extremist sect leaders, and even wealthy individuals who wanted private armies bought Basoga eggs on the black market for exorbitant prices, as training these creatures from infancy ensured their loyalty.
I said, “Basogas are nothing more than living machines. Any group could use them. Do we have any more information?”
Zax said, “Well, yes, new evidence suggests that…”.
My second mind waited eagerly for Zax to finish his sentence. Seeing my curiosity piqued, my boss scratched his orange beard with his calloused hands and said, “Based on this evidence, a group of Dazimadas is involved in this matter.”
I exclaimed in surprise, “Dazimadas? Impossible. They are among the most civilized and peaceful races in the galaxy. They haven’t had any ethnic or religious conflicts for centuries.”
Zax, apparently explaining the matter to Mother Holy, said, “In the dry Dharma, that is, on their home planet, this is true. But many of them have migrated to other planets in the Republic. Unlike their agrarian ancestors in Dharma, the migrants engage more in trade or industry. They also live longer and have more time to learn the violence of other races. Some of them even serve as mercenaries in local armies.”
My second mind remembered that one of my father’s reasons for migrating from Dharma was the increased lifespan. When I saw that the translator was conveying a very harsh and bloody version of Zax’s words, I intervened and said, “Those who serve as mercenaries in armies are not Dazimadas. They are outcasts. Besides, why do you think they are involved in this matter?”
Zax pointed to Arhat, who was still standing motionless, staring at us with a deep gaze. He then said, “Mother Holy Arhat became interested in pursuing these crimes after the Basogas[13] attacked one of their people in Past City and, contrary to the ancient customs of the Arhats, left their sacred city to collaborate with us in this matter. They meticulously studied all the evidence and traces left behind and informed us that this is related to a new sect among the Dazimadas.”
I looked at Arhat with some anger. It was unclear how this foul-smelling creature had dared to accuse our honorable race of savagery and barbarism. Although I tried to conceal my feelings, a faint scent of my anger was produced, which Mother Holy quickly detected and licked. She said in the olfactory language, “Yes, I understand, your racial pride is well-known, but there is compelling evidence to support my claim.”
The translator provided a clumsy rendition of her words to Zax, interpreting “compelling evidence” as “irrefutable reasons.” However, Zax seemed to have no objection to the content.
Arhat said, “I mapped the pattern of the attacks onto a temporal-spatial framework and concluded that the development and evolution of the sect organizing these attacks originate from Dharma. The oldest and most concentrated operations occurred around this planet, and the farther we move from this system, the less intense and frequent the attacks become.”
I said, “But Dharma is home to dozens of intelligent species. Why do you think the role of the Dazimadas is more significant than the others?”
Zax replied instead of Mother Holy, “When we saw that the attacks followed a specific pattern and their origin was Dharma, we monitored the native species of Dharma within the Republic and investigated their gathering points. Strong evidence emerged linking some Dazimadas to these crimes. The Dazimadas have a cult based on the worship of a deity named Ilo.”
I said, “Ilo is the name of one of the ancient gods of Dharma. As far as I know, it is a dying religion, with remnants only found in dry Dharma. I had not heard of migrant Dazimadas worshiping Ilo.”
Arhat said, “It seems that the starting point of these attacks is the ancient temple of Ilo in dry Dharma. However, the footage of the attacks shows that some of the attacking Basogas had the symbol of the star of Ilo on their clothing.”
Zax added, “There is no doubt about the presence of this cult in other parts of the galaxy. In one of the secret hideouts of this cult, managed by a group of Dazimada merchants, we found some interesting things. There were several buildings there designed for breeding Basogas. Additionally, we discovered several ammunition warehouses and maps of major religious sects residing in the Republic’s territory. Those arrested in connection with this matter were so fanatical that they all committed suicide before interrogation, so we couldn’t obtain any information from them.”
Arhat asked, “They committed suicide?”
I felt the muscles supporting my compound eyes tighten. Despite this, Zax, seemingly unaffected by the negative impact of his words on me, continued explaining to Mother Holy, “Yes, they all committed suicide immediately. Their method of suicide was strange: they would wrap their arms around the base of their movable eyes, wrench them out, and die instantly.”
Noticing my discomfort, Zax said in a conciliatory tone, “Of course, we know that these actions come from an unknown and small minority of Dazimadas. The reputation of your race as civilized and peaceful remains intact. Such behavior from Dazimadas is a great mystery to all of us.”
Kumat, who had been silent until now, took over, “According to the reports, the leaders of the Ilo-worshiping society form a small and closed community, practically impenetrable to outsiders. Some of them are Dazimadas, referred to as outcasts due to their hyperactive hormonal systems. Based on this, the Central Office decided that a Dazimada officer should be dispatched to investigate. Initially, Captain was nominated for this mission, but considering your brilliant record in the Pleiades system, I decided to assign this case to you.”
Upon hearing Captain’s name, I drew in my antennae. Captain was a young and ambitious Dazimada who was quickly climbing the ranks and clearly envied my fame and distinguished position. From time to time, I worried that sooner or later, he would perform a notable act and usurp my place as the most renowned Dazimada officer in the galaxy. It was pleasant to know that a member of the Central Council held such a good opinion of me. Without hesitation, I raised my compound eyes and assumed a respectful stance with my wings half-open, saying, “I hope to successfully complete this mission and cleanse this stain from my race. I am ready for the task.”
Kumat turned his swollen, dark purple head towards me and said, “Major, the unrest caused by this cult is more complex than you think.”
Zax added, “And more dangerous…”
Kumat twitched the spikes on his face in agreement with the tall and sturdy sergeant, “Yes, and more dangerous. At least one person investigating this case has been killed. The members of this cult have significant influence and eliminate anyone who interferes with their affairs.”
My first mind rejoiced at hearing that a dangerous mission had been assigned to me, indicating that my desk-bound days were over. However, this exhilaration quickly faded when Zax took over the conversation and said, “Given that you will need the information gathered by the previous officials on this matter, we thought it would be best to assign you colleagues with experience in this area. Therefore, I have chosen two individuals from familiar races to assist you…”
Without waiting for my response, he lumbered towards a small door at the other end of his office. After speaking something in his native, unfamiliar language, the door opened, and a young, agile Dazimada with muscular wings entered the room.
I did my best not to exude an insulting scent upon seeing him. I don’t know how successful I was in this regard, but the newcomer maintained his composure well. Though my antennae unconsciously stiffened under the pressure of my first mind, I couldn’t detect any notable scent from him. Zax, seemingly unaware of the enmity between us, said, “I believe there’s no need to introduce Captain to you. He is assigned to assist you in this case.”
The young officer is capable, and it’s time for him to engage in more serious tasks under the leadership and guidance of an experienced master like yourself.” Despite his mild flattery, I couldn’t ignore the fact that they were considering finding a replacement for me in the organizational hierarchy. I glanced at the Captain and emitted a hesitant scent from my scent glands, indicating my uncertainty.
Zax, even though he wasn’t sensitive to scent stimuli, noticed my hesitation and asked, “Major, is there anything you want to say?”
Reluctantly, I replied, “Well, you know, I usually work alone.”
As if winning a bet, he turned to the others and said, “I told you he’d say that.” Then, he contracted the thorny protrusions on his face and shook his long beard, a gesture that was a form of laughter among the Suhran race.
Kumat spoke, and Zax quickly stopped his laughter. The Central Council member said, “We have all heard of your reputation for working alone and being headstrong. However, we must insist that you abandon this habit for this particular mission. The task you are taking on leaves no room for individual errors.”
I replied with a bit of defiance, “Despite this habit, I performed well in suppressing the bandits in the Pleiades system!”
Kumat said, “Yes, but you paid a heavy price for it. As I have heard, during your mission in the Pleiades, you almost ended up imprisoned for life by the local police. Not to mention your spaceship was damaged, and you wandered in space for days. You were lucky that time, but it doesn’t mean you will always be so.”
Zax considered the discussion concluded and said, “Public opinion is concerned about security in the Republic, and uncovering the truths behind the Ilo-worshiping cult is very important to us. You will have the necessary funds and equipment to travel under false names across the entire Republic, and even into the Empire’s territory if needed. This cult’s activities must be stopped at any cost.”
After a relatively long pause, I touched the tips of my wings together, indicating that I would obey their instructions. Despite his high status, Kumat approached me with a friendly, informal gesture. He gave me a long, searching look and said, “Major, try to identify the root of this unusual crisis. You are a crucial factor in the security equations of the Republic.”
I touched the tips of my wings together respectfully, attempting to overlook the scientific and mathematical tone of his words. Kumat’s tone suggested the end of the meeting. After his words, everyone in the room started moving. Kumat politely waited for Mother Holy Arhat to exit the room before he left Zax’s office. While Zax was busy seeing off his distinguished guests, I glanced at the Captain. Working closely with him would truly be a torturous ordeal. The Captain, still stiff and impassive, followed them out of the room. I moved to leave as well, but Zax signaled me to stay.
Zax waited until everyone had left. Then he turned to me and said, “By the way, Major, there is another colleague assigned to you, whom I didn’t introduce earlier to avoid wasting our esteemed guests’ time.”
My limbs hung stiffly from my thorax. I braced myself to see what new ordeal awaited me. Zax called out loudly, “Soldier, come in!”
A small hatch in the ceiling of Zax’s office, functioning as a back door, opened, and a gray-colored being agilely crawled in. He paused momentarily in a state of confusion, staring at me with his five red eyes. He was an Asgart[1], a native species of dry Dharma. A tall, muscular, and slender being, he stood on two long legs, playing with the tip of his thick, mobile tail with his six fingers. Asgarts were beings without a middle ground—they were either very intelligent or very foolish. From this one’s movements, I could immediately discern traces of naivety and stupidity. Nevertheless, my first mind was pleased to see a native of my home planet.
Zax said, “Since I know your relationship with the Captain isn’t very friendly, I’m assigning Soldier Vispat as your aide and assistant. He served under the previous officer in charge of this case and is somewhat familiar with the intricacies of the matter.”
I looked at the rough face of the Asgart and refrained from asking how someone like him could be aware of anything. Zax cautiously added, “Major, you might have guessed that Soldier Vispat will reside in your unit until the mission is complete.”
“This way, you’ll be able to exchange ideas continuously and increase your safety as well.” There was no one in the room who spoke the Dazimada language, so I cursed both of them with a burst of sour scents. My home, like those of other members of the Security Department, belonged to the organization, and I had no say in who could stay there. Although when they gave me this large and beautiful house after the events in the Pleiades system, I assumed I would be its only resident for a long time.
Nevertheless, sharing my home with this Asgart was more pleasant than having the Captain sent to my residence. So, I didn’t complain and touched the tips of my wings together again. There was nothing more to say, so I left the office with the Asgart. In the hallway, I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. Among us Dazimadas, it wasn’t customary for anyone to have a specific name, and everyone was recognized by their role and function. That’s why it always took me a while to learn the specific names of my surroundings. After a brief pause, when I remembered his name, I said, “Well, Vispat, nice to meet you.”
Vispat opened his large mouth filled with sharp teeth and the first thing he said to me was, “At your service, boss!”
When I left the office and sat in the vehicle with my new colleague, I had the chance to take a closer look at him. Like all Asgarts, he had a robust body. The veins running like black fans through his prominent muscles exuded the sour smell of blood that flowed through them from his joints. He had the rough face typical of all Asgarts, with a wide mouth and thick lips in the middle. Even with his mouth closed, the tips of his two long fangs were visible. He had a delicate and very small nose, with three large red eyes deep in the sockets of his skull, and two compound eyes on stalks protruding from the sides of his head. His long, white mane, styled according to the latest fashion, framed this rough and simple face. My new colleague looked more like a thug than a security officer.
Asgarts were a reputable and capable race, living on the twin planets of Dharma like our ancestors. The Dharmas were two large planets orbiting each other unpredictably and traveling the distance between their two small suns. To make their orbits even more complex, each had a massive moon. One of these two planets, the shared birthplace of the Asgarts and my kin, was a barren and dry land. The other had a completely different situation, with almost its entire surface covered in water. These two planets were called Dry Dharma and Blue Dharma respectively, and due to their close distance from each other, they were considered a single world.
Unlike the peaceful and calm Dazimadas, Asgarts were a warrior race. They were the founders of a civilization that first managed to unite the territories of both Dry and Blue Dharma. These creatures were initially savage and bloodthirsty at the dawn of their long history, but gradually, through mingling with other Dharma civilizations, especially the Dazimadas, they changed their ways and established one of the most brilliant local republics.
Three centuries ago, the armies of the Molok Empire invaded the Dharma system. The Molok knights attacked these two planets in several successive waves, quickly conquering the Asgart territories. The natives, who had struggled for centuries to establish a fair governance system, did not submit to the rule of the Moloks and fought the invaders through an underground movement led by the Asgarts. However, the ancient methods of warfare had been forgotten after centuries of peace. The rebels were repeatedly defeated and eventually massacred. The Dazimadas, who were agricultural and peaceful beings, accepted the Molok rule without much conflict and therefore suffered less damage. The Dharmas were absorbed into the Empire’s domain, and for the past two hundred years, the tamed cities of the Asgarts and Dazimadas continued under the rule of Molok governors.
After the defeat of the Dharma resistance movement, a large group of rebels sought refuge in the Republic’s territory. My ancestors were among these migrants, and without a doubt, Vispat had a similar lineage. Among all the migrants, the memory of the ancestral homeland was still cherished, and everyone lived in the hope that they would one day drive the Molok masters from the Dharmas. However, gradually, this hope for the future was turning into a memory of the past.
Vispat, leaning back in the soft plastic seat of the vehicle, watched the streets with his red eyes in silence. The Asgarts were generally a quiet people, communicating only verbally. For a few minutes, I looked for a way to get to know my new colleague better.
Finally, my second brain decided that the best way to start a conversation with him was by introducing myself. So I said, “I am the seventh child of the third child of my great parent, who is the twelfth generation from the Dharma immigrants. My friends call me Major.”
Vispat looked me over with his five eyes and said in the casual tone typical of Asgarts, “Well, that’s better. I think it would be tough to call you by ‘the seventh child of the third child of your grandparent’ every time. So I’ll just call you Major. By the way, I think introducing yourself as the conqueror of the Pleiades system would be more interesting.”
I knew that Zax had essentially chosen him as my aide and assistant, but I wasn’t offended by his cheeky tone. Asgarts only knew how to talk in that manner. So I didn’t say anything and nodded with my tail to affirm his words. Then, I adjusted my horned helmet on my head, feeling it had gotten a bit tight and was pressing against the back of my head. I would need to buy a larger helmet at the first opportunity.
It was still early, and my colleague’s gray body looked bluish under the faint light of the floating city lamps. I sensed that my new colleague was a bit scared of my daring and bold driving. He had no wings, and it was known that non-flying species were overly cautious while driving. Of course, this wasn’t his only significant disadvantage. My first brain felt superior and proud, remembering that Asgarts, like Suhrans, needed regular sleep. Nothing was worse for me than having my housemate walking around while I was meditating, disturbing my focus.
Vispat remained firm in his seat, sheltered between his contracted muscles,[14] following our rapid flight among thousands of other passersby. When I passed beneath the vast wings of a flying dragon, he jumped and stayed in a state of terror for the next few minutes. I had to pass through one of the gaps in a massive spaceship blocking my path to avoid a collision with a small insect-like vehicle. The spaceship undoubtedly belonged to a very colossal race and moved so slowly that it seemed almost stationary. Fortunately, its design complied with the Republic’s traffic laws, and it had channels, gaps, and tunnels built into its unused spaces so that relatively small vehicles like ours could pass through without stopping.
I laughed at his fear. Although I knew he couldn’t understand the olfactory language, I exuded a wave of comforting scents. For a moment, I imagined how I would feel if the Captain had been chosen as my assistant and housemate instead. This thought brought a wave of affection for this simple Asgart to my first brain. I ran a few of my arms through my long mane and said in the common verbal language of the Republic, “Well, dear colleague, I think it would be best to show you your new home first.”