Western Sunrise: An Alternative History

By Alan Gardner

Western Sunrise is a political thriller with a difference. This Earth rotates in the opposite direction. Imagine the sun rising in the West and setting in the East. The reversal may have changed history. Nations and peoples that, in our world, wield power and control are the underdogs fighting for their very existence
The names, characters and locations in Western Sunrise may sound strange and foreign but the theme is very familiar: in politics anything goes and only the strongest and most ruthless survive

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alan Gardner
• Release date: Feb 5, 2015
• ISBN: 9781783016433

Book preview

power.

Chapter 1

Akecheta woke cursing as the rising sun burnt into his drink-weary eyes. These damn Colos! He’d been specific about not having a west-facing room when making his reservation, to avoid this. Rooms unnaturally darkened by blinds disturbed him. Why, he had never discovered. Early natural light, however, without the bloody sun was acceptable.

With great difficulty his mind began to function, desperately trying to recall last night’s events. This had been his first flight across the Eastern Sea from the Homeland capital Tenoch to the city of Kanza. Situated on the river Mers Kanza was one of the oldest colonial cities. The locals constantly bitched for independence but appeared incapable of acting together to obtain it. There had been sporadic attempts by the Colos to gain independence but with a combination of military intervention and playing on Homeland intertribal prejudices still prevalent in the colonial states these had, in the past, been successfully put down. Something totally overlooked by Tenoch, was the fact that many generations of Colos, even those with impeccable pedigrees, born in Urop, had never ever seen the Homeland. The indigenous natives of Urop had played little part in these proceedings. They were previously of little economic use: their numbers having been decimated by new diseases brought in by the colonists followed by the predations of the slave trade. However in the past three generations their numbers had slowly increased. They had become more than an irritation, particularly in the last orbit, with a series of industrial actions. These were becoming increasingly difficult to eliminate. A sense of purpose and suspected co-operation with the dissident Colos had been detected by the security services. How times had changed. When the first explorers arrived these primitives had no horses or even the wheel.

Sufficiently alarmed by these developments, the Homeland had organised an operation to remove this festering sore. Akecheta, an experienced enforcer with the CAIA, had been charged with fronting this on the ground. He had a longstanding antipathy against Urops. A drunken slave on his parents’ farm, some twenty orbits ago, had raped his younger sister. It was almost beyond his comprehension that the Indies, as the independence movement was called, could even consider an alliance with such creatures.

Slowly he managed to get out of bed. Moving unsteadily to the bathroom he noticed his billfold open on the floor. Memory of the two Urop whores from last night returned. How had he paid? With gold or Montez, the universal proper money? He bent down, picked it up, felt the weight and decided Montez. Strange most Urop prostitutes, and other businesses, preferred gold. The fascination and value placed on gold in Urop was still a total mystery to the united tribes. They had always considered it an attractively coloured soft workable metal. It was ideal for producing elaborate designs and religious trinkets of no intrinsic value but to emphasise the social status of its possessor.

More than the going rate in Montez was missing. He then remembered the hefty retainer paid to hotel reception. Discretion in the supply of natives for sex was required as it was still regarded as socially unacceptable in polite society. The desire to have sex with natives was a secret Akecheta guarded carefully. This could and would be used against him by rivals in the department. He was just so drawn to their strange smell and hairiness - an attraction he found quite irresistible. It was a proclivity he could not explain. On reflection he wondered why he paid such arrangement fees. The hotel was exclusively for Homeland or Colo guests. As a cover all the prostitutes were employed as cleaners. He saw no reason to meddle in their business: he had more pressing problems.

This was Akecheta’s first visit to Urop. Hopefully it would be his last. Kanza was an important port and military base on a large island, New Lenape, just off the continent proper. The panicking governor, an incompetent political appointee, was now overseeing a disastrous fall in exports, taxes and, most importantly, the boycott of imported goods and had called in Homeland help. Walls covered in graffiti demanding independence were to be seen everywhere. There was also rising political uncertainty. The new Huitzil was the first non-Aztec leader in Homeland history. Installed just under thirteen lunars ago he was unmarried: another first. Already all sorts of rumours circulated regarding his sexuality. The purity of his Wichita ancestry was also being questioned. The possibility of a Urop slave forebear had even been hinted at. Although not considered as important as pure Aztec blood the presence of a slave ancestor in your family tree was social disaster. The Homeland economy was stagnating. A success over the Indies in the colonies would prove a welcome distraction to the troubles now brewing with the undertribes particularly to the North. The election of a Wichita had been a sop: an attempt to appease these dissidents. When the first incursions North from Mexica had been made some two thousand orbits earlier, the Aztecs had treated the people encountered with barely disguised contempt. However they soon proved useful to the ever-expanding empire providing much needed manpower in the constant border skirmishes with the Incas to the south. Aztecs, as ever, still considered themselves the elite, disapproving of any social or sexual liaison with these inferiors. Many Tenoch officials stationed far from home resorted to local undertribe mistresses. Over the centuries intermarriage had become almost socially acceptable. This did not apply to Urops of any description, free or former slave, for which there was great racial prejudice. Akecheta was extremely proud of his Cheyenne ancestry and rigorous research carried out by him revealed no Urop skeletons in the family cupboard.

Turning on the bathroom light he caught sight of his naked body in the mirror. Like a camera, it never lies. The flabbiness around the midriff was less than flattering - a result of gradually decreasing physical activity coupled with his libertine lifestyle. Highly enjoyable but it had played havoc with his body both internally and externally. His hangover was gargantuan. Project briefing was due at eleven: two dials to rebuild his brain. Memories of last night were sketchy, another bad sign. Close friends in the CAIA had warned him of a growing unease among the upper echelons concerning his continuing ability to carry out assignments effectively. His fearsome reputation had been built on a quick intellect, top physical condition, loyalty, and a steely uncompromising ruthlessness. Though aware of this disquiet he had chosen to take little or no heed of it, relying on his past reputation to gloss over the gradual decline in his operational effectiveness. This had resulted in a near fatal shooting of a fellow CAIA agent in his last Homeland assignment. Colleagues had covered for him but had made it absolutely clear that this was to be the last time.

The full-length mirror showed a well-built man tall for a Homelander with a copper-toned skin so typical of the northern undertribes a sign, he was sure, of racial purity. Half-breeds were tolerated but not approved of. His body charted the history of his career from the scars to the right of his groin left by a homeland fugitive, to the freshly healed gunshot wound in the right forearm from his last botched assignment.

Sucking in the offending bulge he dismissed his inner disquiet at the graphic evidence of this physical decline with thoughts of last night’s sexual activity. Faking it or not they made Homeland women seem cold and distant: when you managed to get near them.

Flicking on the viewer, he was just in time to catch Huitzil giving reassurances regarding the deteriorating relations with the Incan Empire who controlled most of the territories to the south of Urop including Hausa. Tensions had been rising over the last ten orbits regarding the exploitation of the vast continent south of Qin at present occupied by a few Inca outposts. Hostilities with Rus, a vast area at the far limits of Homeland influence, previously sporadic, were now virtually continuous. The indigenous people were aggressive and extremely distrustful of any outsiders. Their isolation was becoming difficult to maintain as the empire was gradually pushing in from the East through Qin, another territory that was barely under control even after over two hundred orbits of occupation having been reached across the Endless Sea. No horses or wheel there either but like Urop they possessed three things desirable to the Empire: wheat, cattle and sheep. In Urop after five centuries there were little or no purebred colonists leading to a gradual loss of importance in the colonies of pure breeds. Many Homelanders were of the opinion that this led to a corresponding lack of respect for traditional values.

Having showered and dressed he rang room service ordering coffee: black and strong with hot flat bread. Returning to the bathroom he took painkillers with plenty of water in the hope his brain would soon resume work as normal. He thought ahead to the briefing meeting knowing he would loathe every second. Sitting around a table with desk-bound losers determined to score career-advancing points off each other. This was not, in his opinion, a suitable use of valuable time. These people always left the dirty work to men such as him. He had long ago given up any hope, or desire, for such appointments admitting that he had neither the patience nor the political nous to succeed. This realisation some ten orbits ago had changed his attitude to superiors. He no longer said what he thought they wanted to hear. His reputation as an outspoken, unpredictable but effective hunter of Homeland criminals was a skill his superiors hoped would eliminate the Indie insurgents.

A rap on the door followed by Room service announced the arrival of breakfast. Instinctively reaching for his gun he went into the bathroom leaving the door slightly open. The door to the room opened and a trolley was pushed in by a Urop waiter. Through the crack in the door he checked him and the trolley over.

Leave it on the table and take the trolley please he called out casually.

You’ll have to sign for it sir

I’m in the shower. Just charge it. There’s two gold Montez on the table for you

As he continued to watch the waiter turned to leave the room making no effort to pick up the generous tip offered. Akecheta froze. Any Urop would grab the cash. Something was very wrong. He noticed that the lower level of the trolley was covered. What required covering? This was not good.

Hey I’ve changed my mind. Take it away he called out. The waiter ran to the open door slamming it behind him. Akecheta sensed what was coming. Looking around for cover he slammed the door and dived into the bath his forehead hitting the shower mixer. Covering his ears he forced himself as far as he could down into the bath.

The explosion blew the bathroom door into the room and over the top of the bath. There was a rush of air as the blast swept through the room with a deafening roar. He waited until he heard no more sounds of falling debris. The blast had sucked the air from his lungs and his chest throbbed with pain. Apart from the profusely bleeding gash on his forehead it appeared he had not sustained any serious injuries. Pushing the door off on to the floor and clutching the sides of the bath he pulled himself out and carefully stood up. The bathroom wall was gone. Looking into the room he could see that it had been largely destroyed. He studied himself in the cracked mirror. Hair matted with plaster dust blood from the gash above his left eye had run down his face and over his clothes. The perfect picture of the shocked innocent victim. His training now kicked in. Next move he thought. Analyse the situation. All of his documentation identified him as a director of Aztec Tobacco. His cover was obviously blown. How had they known? First he needed get out of the room as a victim without drawing attention to himself.

Sensing movement he looked up to see the first of the rescue services enter the room. Slumping to his knees he groaned quietly putting his hands to his face.

Can you hear me sir

Akecheta nodded

Are you alone?

Again Akecheta nodded.

One casualty I repeat one casualty. Medic required, the man reported into his caller.

What happened? asked Akecheta

Plenty of time for that later, came the reply What is your name?

Akecheta replied with his now irrelevant cover name. God just get me to a hospital I need to reorganise as soon as possible.

Two medics entered the room and checked his vital signs. Despite his protests they insisted that he be stretchered to the ambulance. As they wheeled him along the corridor two local police officers walked towards them. Although entirely composed of non-Urops they were never involved in any covert operations as it was suspected, no doubt with good reason, that they had Indie sympathisers in their ranks. Can we talk to him? asked the older officer.

Wait until we get him to the ambulance replied the medic.

As they crossed the hotel lobby Akecheta overheard the younger of the officers say to his colleague I’ve checked at reception he’s a manager with Aztec Tobacco

Strange target his colleague replied, Had he changed rooms?

Apparently not

Reaching the ambulance the older officer said We’re from the Kanza Colo Police sir. Can you remember what happened?

I was in the bathroom. What the hell was it? A gas explosion?

Too early to tell. But unlikely - only your room was destroyed.

Anyone else hurt?

Again too early to tell. Please sir let me ask the questions

Shit thought Akecheta he was not accustomed to, or comfortable in, the role of an injured victim. When this operation had been suggested by the Director, Akecheta had submitted the names of other equally experienced agents but he had been forced to undertake it himself. A great start, within twelve dials of his arrival the secret was out! Someone had almost succeeded in killing him. Only his quick thinking and a bath had saved him. This was in contrast to the briefings confidently predicting the imminent demise of the Indies. Strange: there still appeared to be some life left in the corpse. This had badly shaken his confidence. Indies were not known for such acts. Compared to Homeland criminals they were soft targets: almost a training exercise. There was obviously a new dynamic in play.

Behind the Colo police two figures appeared. Excuse me I am agent Holata and this is agent Apisi from the CAIA. We’re here to take this man to the Military Hospital

On hearing this Akecheta sighed with relief

On whose say so? came the frosty response

You know that all suspected terrorist attacks are taken over immediately by the CAIA said Holata

At present we don’t know that’s the case, retorted the older officer

When we know that it isn’t you’ll be our first call retorted Holata Now if you’ll excuse us.

Turning to the medic he said Please take us to the Military hospital. Now!

The ambulance doors closed, the drive to the hospital started with Akecheta feeling a welcome sense of security accompanied by the medic and more importantly two fellow agents. Drifting into unconsciousness, having totally underestimated the extent of his injuries, he had no idea of how little he knew and the less than prominent part he would play in future events.

Chapter 2

In the capital, Tenoch, on level 12 of pyramid 1 CAIA Director Atl entered his office anticipating a report from Akecheta. This operation had been hamstrung by financial cutbacks that even the CAIA had to tolerate. This meant that only one operative had been sent undercover to Urop. Far from ideal but it had been entrusted to Akecheta, an experienced ruthless man. Atl’s continued, and hopefully enhanced reputation, depended on its success.

Looking out on the stepped pyramids landscaped terraces of the headquarters he reflected on how long it had taken him to rise from the ground floor to level 12. The eldest son of the patriarch of an important but lesser Aztec tribe he was of stocky build now, though he refused to accept it, running to fat. With his hair cut short and swept back in the current fashion, he was considered by many to be handsome. However the effect of his strong facial features was diminished by the coldness of his eyes betraying his inner cruelty. His father’s patronage had secured him a place as a trainee in the CAIA at the expense of more suitable candidates. It soon became apparent that he had a natural talent for subterfuge, double-dealing, deceit and was utterly amoral. This was reinforced by a total loyalty to himself, a complete lack of conscience in his use of and ultimate discarding of anyone, friend or foe, once finished with. Such qualities had been quickly recognised by his superiors and put to good use. Many of them would later regret this as Atl rose through the ranks: often at his patrons’ expense. He was known as Nukpana a Hopi name for evil. Other descriptions were less polite.

He was well aware of his reputation and the loathing felt by his subordinates. He didn’t give a fuck what they thought. Fear kept them up to the mark. His network of informers gave him the opportunity to identify future pawns to be used and abused: or remove possible threats to his position. He looked out across the central government plaza at the stepped pyramid departmental buildings, all thirteen levels high, one for each lunar month. This format was consistent across the whole empire, the pyramids acting as a stamp of authority towering above the surrounding buildings. No variation was permitted to these 13 levels. With increased laws and taxes bureaucracy had inevitably expanded therefore as time passed two or three floors were fitted into each level. This had necessitated an increase in height making the pyramids even more dominating. He checked the recorders on his desk. Viewing these was an essential part of his sun. All overnight reports were read in great detail thus making sure he was always one step ahead of his subordinates. Having loaded the visuals, he was about to screen them when, much to his annoyance, the caller rang. Pressing down the intercom he snapped, Yes?

Your wife Director replied an assistant.

God thought Atl what can that dull bitch want now? He had only left her half a dial before. He was particularly irked by this interruption: he always liked to keep the early morning to himself. Adopting a polite tone he picked up the caller.

"What can I do for you Itzil?

It’s the Festival of the Sun in four suns.

I’m fully aware of that. I thought all the arrangements had been made.

There’s a problem with the delivery of the Urop brewed beer.

Hardly a concern of mine. Get on to Citadel supplies.

Atl adopted his usual tactic for this type of call, not listening but making agreeable sounds at suitable intervals. He was on the verge of breaking the Urop Indies for good while his wife gushed on about imported beer.

I have. They say there’s a strike at the storage facility.

So you want me to send in the military? Itzil our guests will drink anything we have. It’s free.

In our position we have to make the right impression.

"No Itzil you have to make the right impression. I have to go now: and no I haven’t forgotten it’s HuItzil’s dinner tonight. See you later."

Before she could reply he ended the call.

Atl cursed silently. God: an evening with the Aztec elite. Tonight’s dinner was a tradition held to mark the thirteenth lunar of a HuItzil’s inauguration. This Huitzil, the first undertriber to hold the position, was proving to be a real troublemaker. His actions confirming he had a calculating political brain. As for the Festival: four suns of celebrations to mark midsummer’s day when the Sun God came to earth. It was always a source of wonder to Atl how a people who had calculated the length of the year hundreds of orbits ago and knew that the earth orbited the sun had based their society on such superstition. The legacy was this now meaningless holiday: an irritating interruption to his work.

His wife Itzil was becoming increasingly tiresome. She was the daughter of the previous CAIA Director. The man had intended to resign after accusations of sexual deviance had emerged two orbits after his marriage to Itzil. They had been circulated from sources controlled by Atl. Another of his campaigns in the furtherance of his career. However nothing ever led back to him. The father’s unexpected suicide before his resignation had only proved to Atl his predecessor’s weakness and unsuitability.

She was, in his opinion, a demanding bitch still harbouring a simmering resentment that she had married very much beneath her. She had only agreed to it to comply with her father’s wishes. At the time of the marriage it had appeared an excellent career move. Getting the woman to love him had taken a little effort. Her now dead father in his naivety thought it a good match. He had been desperately anxious to get his last daughter married off. The reality had proved a little different. Itzil had proved to be infertile, bovine and thinking of sex, after her initial curiosity had been satisfied, as a necessary vaguely distasteful bodily function. The discovery that she was a coca addict had only added to his increasing irritation. Atl’s investigators had missed this little gem of information. Coca was now highly narcotic, having been genetically modified by the Incas some two hundred orbits ago. This was the second time he had been outsmarted by his now dead father-in-law who had shown by this one crucial concealment why he too had risen through the ranks. If it wasn’t for her impeccable social connections with the upper echelons of Aztec society he was sure a tragic fatal overdose would have already occurred. For the present she would have to remain a necessary irritant. The public persona of the loving husband was a well-practised routine. This had gained the admiration of friends and colleagues alike with his support for his wife during the oh-so tragic suicide of her father.

Returning to his desk he sat selecting a report to study. It concerned the latest military situation. This was really the responsibility of Mecatl, the military commander, but Atl made a point of knowing everything about everyone. As expected it was bad news. The Empire was suffering militarily, financially and economically. Unemployment was rising, the crime rate almost out of control, undertribe unrest in the Homeland and an increased clamouring for independence in Qin and Urop were conspiring to make a perfect storm. An orbit ago, against Atl’s wishes, the first non- Aztec Huitzil had been elected. This man had shown no respect for the hierarchy and, much to the dismay of the council, had set about reforming the system.

Atl’s only real concern was his own position. He cared nothing for the Empire only his position in it. To this end he was comforted by the knowledge that he possessed comprehensive cofis on all the council members for future bargaining in his long held ambition to become Huitzil. If only this information had been available before the election. Itzil’s father had seen to that. That old bastard had hung on until the Huitzil was installed before killing himself. Atl possessed all the detail to expose him, subtly letting this be known at an informal meeting some two orbits ago. This had proved to be a grave miscalculation as the Director immediately confirmed the possession of an equally damning dossier on Atl. Until the Director’s death the fear of mutual destruction maintained the balance. The reason for the suicide one lunar after HuItzil’s election still eluded him. Surely it was more than just fear of public humiliation? After all they both had insurance. Each needed the other to survive. Why hadn’t he exposed Atl as a parting gift? Atl, being a very careful man and to ensure his security, a sun after the death had searched the dead man’s office for the incriminating evidence. He found absolutely nothing. Next sun he desperately ransacked the man’s apartment. The computers had been wiped clean; there was nothing hidden in locations where Atl’s devious mind thought likely. After dials of concentrated effort he paused to collect his thoughts. Where would this secretive shit have concealed his prized insurance policies? Maybe somewhere he knew Atl would never look, maybe in plain sight. Looking along shelving that contained a collection of artefacts, books and view pads he spotted a recording of his wedding to Itzil. Acting purely on intuition he activated it. Just as Itzil was smilingly toasting their future the pad morphed into all the secrets of the ruling clique. It was astounding stuff: superbly detailed research. These personal histories made his own relating to the leaders look like children’s bedtime stories. There was however one worrying omission. There was not one mention of Atl. He knew he always covered his tracks with great care but that scheming old bastard must have had something on him. He was positive the man had not been bluffing. Settling for what he had with a great feeling of vicarious pleasure he made new copies of the cofis relating to his Council colleagues, their friends and relatives. Before storing them carefully away he once again indulged himself going through the more bizarre moments. Voyeurism had always been one of his vices. Once again he felt secure but his plan for advancement was continually being frustrated by Huitzil: a fucking low born upstart.

Knowing the rest of the reports would be equally depressing he chose to lighten his mood by turning with anticipation to the waiting visuals that only he and a trusted informer knew existed. They had been streamed in by satellite last night. The contents of these were vital to the operation in Urop requiring his undivided attention. Relaxing in his chair he sipped his coffee before lighting the first cigar of the day. The images, barely a dial old and of excellent quality, appeared on the viewer and looked most promising. He was not to be disappointed. The Urop women were young, well versed in the ways of sex and, as ever, you could always rely on a good performance from Akecheta.

Chapter 3

Akecheta woke with a start. Gradually his surroundings came into focus. The medical equipment above his head triggered memory of the bomb explosion. Two faces came into the view. They were, he assumed, the CAIA agents who had taken over from the locals.

How are you feeling sir? You’re in a CAIA hospital. You’re safe here stated the older of the men. As for the question? How the fuck do you think I feel? Someone has just tried to blow me apart!!

Worse than I thought I would he replied.

This was, for him, an alarming admission His recollection of events from the moment the ambulance doors had closed could, at best, be described as sketchy.

A third face, that of a woman, came into his field of vision.

Shiriki. I’m Doctor Doli

Addressing his colleagues she said firmly Will you wait outside please while I examine your friend. Now!

As the door closed behind them she checked his vital signs from the battery of monitors beside his bed. Shiriki Shiriki, recalled Akecheta, my now useless cover name. Checking the doctor over he saw an attractive young woman, Colo by her accent, no doubt a CHIP [Colo Homeland Purebred]. It was difficult enough for women to gain acceptance in the professions but nigh on possible for a half-breed. There were now many women in the professions and even a movement demanding votes for them. Most men considered this a step too far. She asked all the usual questions, Who are you? Follow my finger. Who is the Huitzil?" etc etc.

Obviously satisfied by his responses she said, You are very fortunate, Shiriki, to still have all your faculties

How long have I been here Doctor? Have I any serious injuries?

You’ve been unconscious for a sun. You have a fracture to the front of your skull, a small cerebral bleed, two ribs are fractured and your right lung is bruised.

What’s the prognosis Doctor?

Your skull and ribs will heal. The bleed has, as yet, not spread but requires close monitoring. The pain from the bruising will gradually go

How long will I be here?

I’d say at least seven suns. We must make sure the bleed disperses. It is also essential that you refrain from physical exertion for at least a lunar after your release

Seven suns!! God!!! How could this scheme unravel like this before it had even begun? He was beginning to feel like the only actor on the stage without a script.

It was decision time. This was not going to be easy. Time was starting to catch up with him. Recovery and healing now took longer and longer. Two orbits ago he had suffered complications due to discharging himself, against medical advice, following a stabbing by a fugitive. A sun later he had awoken in his bed on blood soaked sheets. Perhaps it was time to take notice of medical advice.

Opening the door the doctor spoke to the waiting men You can talk to him now. Half a dial. No longer. I’ll be back to check

The two entered crossed the room standing side by side at the bedside.

Before we get down to work tell me who you are and what you know of the Indies? ordered Akecheta

The older and taller of the two was first to respond Holata, twenty orbits with the agency. Born in Urop purebred Mandan six lunars training in Tenoch. Fifteen orbits in the anti-Indie section.

And you?

Apisi, ten orbits with the agency. Born in the Homeland purebred Lakota/Wichita. Moved to Urop when my father became director of Colo coal mining. Seven years in the anti-Indies with Holata.

Excellent, thought Akecheta, they could have been handpicked. Sometimes, not very often, but sometimes the CAIA got you out of the shit

Thank you for showing initiative concerning my cover and getting me into this hospital. To them, it appears, I’m still a civilian?

Yes, replied Holata

Do you know who I am?

No sir but we assumed you are with us, having received instructions to ensure we intercepted the Colo police and brought you here. We have also been instructed to be at your disposal and follow any instructions without question.

My name is Akecheta,

From their reaction he knew his reputation had preceded him.

I‘m here on the orders of the director himself. The aim, as you may have surmised from your own experience, is to eradicate the Indies permanently. It must be obvious to you both that the Indies had prior knowledge of my arrival. The swiftness of their action suggests that their information came from the Homeland. How, and from whom, we may not have time to ascertain. Reluctantly I am being guided by medical advice. Until I am out of here you will report direct to me. All reports face to face. Nothing recorded or written down. No calls to the hospital. Understood?

Both men nodded in agreement.

Holata tell me what the public know about the bombing?

The official line is there was only one casualty: identity to be confirmed. No details released regarding injuries or possible recovery. The cause of the explosion is unknown.

We need time to re-plan replied Akecheta So: after three suns of intensive care the victim died of his injuries. Complications due to a brain haemorrhage seems suitable. Release my cover name, it won’t fool those behind the bomb but they’ll think I’m out of the equation. How about the hospital staff, what do they know?

Only what we have told you

Good. I’ll brief the hospital management. We’ll have the doctor pronounce me dead and my corpse moved to another room. Understood?

Yes sir. replied Holata Can you confirm what we should call you?

Akecheta. Please no more sir came