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“Still, what ’Zamamee says is true,” ’Rolamee put in. “The files are full of reports which, though contradictory in some cases, all make mention of one or more humans clad in reactive special armor. Assuming that the eyewitness accounts are accurate, it appears that this individual or group of individuals can absorb a great deal of punishment without suffering personal injury, have exceptional combat skills, and demonstrate superior leadership capabilities. Wherever he or they appear, other humans rally and fight with renewed vigor.”
“Exactly,” ’Zamamee said gratefully. “Which is why I recommend that a special Hunter-Killer team be commissioned to find the human and retrieve his armor for analysis.”
“Noted,” the Prophet said gravely. “Withdraw while the Council confers.”
’Zamamee had little choice but to lower his eyes, back away from the podium, and turn to the door. Once out in the hallway, the Elite was required to wait for only a few units before his name again was called, and he was ushered back into the room. ’Zamamee saw that both the Prophet and the second Elite had disappeared, leaving ’Rolamee to deliver the news.
The other officer stood as if to reduce the width of the social gap that separated them. “I regret, ’Zamamee, that the Prophet places little weight on the reports, labeling them ‘combat-induced hysteria.’ More than that, we all agreed that you are far too valuable an asset to expend on a single target. Your request has been denied.”
’Zamamee knew that ’Rolamee had invented the “far too valuable” aspect of his report in order to cushion the blow, but appreciated the intent behind the words. Though severely disappointed, he was a soldier, and that meant following orders. He lowered his eyes. “Yes, Excellency. Thank you, Excellency.”
Yayap saw the Elite emerge, read the slight droop of his shoulders, and knew his prayers had been answered. The Council had denied the Elite’s insane request, he would be allowed to return to his unit, and life would return to normal.
If ’Zamamee had been intimidating on his way to see the Council, he was a good deal less so on his way out. He walked even faster, however, forcing Yayap to break into a run. The Grunt weaved his way through the foot traffic arrayed in front of him and struggled to keep pace with ’Zamamee.
Yayap squealed in surprise when he slammed into the back of ’Zamamee’s armored legs; the Elite had come to a sudden halt. The Grunt noticed with unease that his new master’s hands were clenched. He followed ’Zamamee’s gaze and spotted a group of four Jackals.
They dragged a uniformed human between them.
Keyes had just been interrogated for the third time. Some sort of neural shock treatment had been administered to make him talk, and his nerve endings continued to buzz as the aliens prodded his back, yelled incomprehensible gibberish into his ears, and laughed at his discomfort. He tasted his own blood.
The procession came to a sudden stop as an Elite in black combat armor blocked the way, pointed a long slender finger at the human, and said “You! Tell me where the I can find the human who wears the special armor.”