Chapter 268: Historical Archive (PThok & The Great Ice Cream Raid) (1/2)

Delmek-4 was a standard agricultural planet. They produced wheat, sorghum, corn, soybeans, alfalfa, potatoes, and tobacco. There were sheep, pig, cow, and other animal farms. Factories took the raw food and turned it to foodstuffs, from bread to steaks to mutton to ice cream to cigarettes. True, it was near the Treana'ad Disputed Zone, but it wasn't exactly a priority military target and the close proximity of Mestacalla and the Republic Navy base there at only 7 light years made sure they could scream for help. The Republic shipped the goods of Delmek-4 all over the Republic, supporting the colonies of Terra.

P'Thok was more than a little nervous. Terra Sol was only thirty light years away, the Disputed Zone and Treana'ad Space only ten light years behind him. While Terran Space wasn't big, only roughly 50 light years, and they had possessed nearly fifteen colonies in addition to their heavily protected Core World, P'Thok was still very nervous. He did not mind admitting it to himself, although he found that contemplating it over a bowl of ice cream topped with butterscotch sauce and then smoking a cigarette made it easier to think about.

The Terrans had attempted to colonize two worlds that the Hive Worlds had slated for being used for expansion. Both worlds had been prepared, with the proper creatures in the sand to give grubs a good meal as they grew and the proper vegetation. The Treana'ad couldn't believe the temerity of the Terrans and so they had declared war.

They had even managed to wrest two star systems, both of them with red suns, from the Terrans, and even take two colonies on disgustingly wet worlds underneath dangerous yellow suns.

But unlike every other mammalian race the Treana'ad had discovered, the Terrans could fight. They could fight, and fight hard. Even Mantid warriors and speakers were not as dangerous as a Terran, as the Treana'ad had learned during the two years of warfare.

Which is why P'Thok carefully studied the maps of the primary target that the ship's scanners were able to discern. P'Thok had to admit, the Mantid vessel had amazing scanners. He had not expected a Mantid trading vessel to have scanners able to read the dataplate on the back of a ground car from orbit, but he was glad the ship possessed them all the same.

The Matron had agreed, this mission was of great importance. She approved of P'Thok's targets.

The Goody Scoop Ice Cream Company for one. That was the primary target.

The Whachagotta Lose Tobacco Company was the newest target.

P'Thok managed to identify a distribution point for both companies, where trucks full of product came in and were unloaded before the contents were loaded onto a ship to distribute the product around the Republic.

Finally ready, P'Thok entered the bridge and gave the signal.

The pilot, a talented worker caste male who was a good shot with a plasma rifle in addition to being a gifted pilot, glanced at the worker caste at the communications computer, who nodded, a cigarette held in his mandibles.

The communications specialist opened a channel to ground-side.

Right as it was answered the pilot looked at P'Thok.

”Sir, your cigarette,” he said.

”Oh,” P'Thok took the cigarette out of his mouth and handed it to the pilot.

The screen cleared, showing a beige skinned human with dark hair. ”Thontaire City Space Traffic Control. How can I help you?”

”Yes, we need landing permission. We are here to discuss trading with the Mantid Hive Worlds,” P'Thok said.

On the side of the screen the overlay of a Mantid Speaker repeated what P'Thok said, using Mantid body language instead of Treana'ad.

It was an excellent piece of software.

”Berth-9,” the human said and cut the channel.

”Well, that was rude,” the Matron said, puffing out a cloud of 'blueberry cream' around herself, easing everyone's agitation.

”No matter. I will wrest the ice cream and smoke from them despite their rudeness,” P'Thok promised. He looked at the pilot. ”Take us in, Klikatikit.”

”As you command, sir,” the pilot said. He motioned at the cigarette in his mouth. ”Do you wish this returned, great one?”

”Keep it. Piloting this ship must be stressful. I for one am grateful for your skills,” P'Thok said. He headed for the lift. ”I'll be with my men.”

The Matron eyes P'Thok as he entered the elevator.

Yes, he would father many grubs.

----------

The Mantid tradeship landed in the dark of night. Two security drones moved close, just in case there was a problem.

Two accurate shots from a heavy plasma rifle gutted them and the two teams of Treana'ad warriors bolted for the two different warehouses while a third sprinted at nearly fifty miles an hour at the spaceport control center.

P'Thok fired his plasma rifle twice, caving in the doors, and rushed in. There was a sign proclaiming which way to security and he waved two men that way. ”Stun only!” he reminded them. The other five men followed him as he charged down the hallway, shooting open the door to the control room.

He had carefully examined human media to make sure anything he had to say to humans would carry the most weight. He'd chosen to go without a helmet, instead wearing a cloth head covering like a Terran engaged in nerfarious deeds would, as well as a snazzy hat.

He charged into the room, seeing a half dozen Terran females and a dozen Terran males sitting at work stations.

”REACH FOR THE SKY!” P'Thok yelled out, firing two shots into the ceiling. ”THIS HERE'S A HOLD UP!”

The Terrans stared at the six Treana'ad warriors, easily almost ten feet tall, all of them wearing baclavas and cowboy hats as well as Treana'ad combat armor and carrying Treana'ad plasma rifles.

The raised their hands.

”Keep your fingers off the silent alarms. No cops!” One Treana'ad, excited over it all, ordered, waving his plasma rifle around with one hand and clacking his bladearms together.

”I see a cop, all of you are dead!” another Treana'ad warrior threatened, running over to crouch down and look out the window.

”Nobody do anything stupid and you'll all live to go home to your kids,” P'Thok promised, scuttling over to a Terran with the most elaborate decorations, including facial tattoos and piercings. P'Thok pointed at him. ”You, Facility Manager, you will do my bidding!”

”I'm the janitor,” the impressively decorated human said.

”Oh,” P'Thok turned around, reaching into his combat harness. The Terrans flinched. ”Who's the manager?”

A Terran human gulped and raised her hand.

P'Thok pulled out his pack of cigarettes, opened it, then lit the one he retrieved.

The humans seemed to relax as P'Thok put the pack away.

”Come over here, stand by me. Anyone pulls anything, I see any cops, and you'll be first,” P'Thok threatened.

The terran female nodded, moving over by the massive Treana'ad.

”Smoke?” P'Thok asked. Now that he had them all cowed and submissive, the movies had shown that he should be polite and sociable.

”Um, thank you?” The Terran said. She lit it and handed the pack back.

P'Thok watched two of his men quickly search the desks for passwords, finding them, and then going to work on the computers. One man was to get the robotic system to lay the loading tracks to the ship, the other was to start listing freight to be loaded. A third man crouched down in front of a terminal and began furiously typing, searching the Terran InfoNet for the information that the Treana'ad so desperately needed.

The fourth and fifth crouched down by the windows, peeking out, watching for 'cops'. One opened the window and stuck the barrel of his grenade launcher out, an EM-homing grenade loaded up.

After a moment, P'Thok realized that the room had both male and female Terrans in it, and the Terran next to him was the largest of them. Thick of body and limb.

”You have many males here. Are they all yours?” P'Thok asked.

”Uh, they work for me,” the shift manager said, her mind whirling at what was happening.

”No, no, are they yours for when you are overcome by breeding lust?” P'Thok asked. ”What of the lesser females?”

”Um, I don't get overcome by breeding lust,” the Terran said.

P'Thok turned and looked down at her. ”You don't? Does that mean you don't enter breeding heat and... what's that thing mammals do... ovulate! right, don't you ovulate and devour the lesser females and then breed with your males?”

”No. I use birth control,” the female said.

”Birth... control?” P'Thok said. He tapped his bladearms nervously against his chest plate. ”What is 'birth control'? Tell me, and perhaps I will reward you.”

The Terran female just stared. ”Um, it's just an implant. It releases hormones into my bloodstream that keeps me from ovulating, releasing eggs into my womb, so I can't get pregnant unless I want to turn off the implant.”

P'Thok thought for a long moment. That seemed impossible. Controlling breeding cycles? Why, you might as well try to control pheromone...

...

P'Thok pulled out his small datapad and handed it to the Terran. ”Write down everything you know about this 'birth control' and when we leave I will spare all of your lesser females and captive males.”

”Of course. Just... don't hurt them, OK?” the female Terran said.