Dirge - Alan Dean Foster [56]
“Better be soon.” Climbing into the skimmer, Derwent settled himself into his seat. Their next stop was a small vegetable farm located six kilometers northwest of the inn. He had no doubt what they would find there. “I hear that back on Earth and the colonies people are raging at their local government ministers. That’s not surprising. They want a face to attach to this enemy.”
“Revenge may be a primitive emotion, but it’s one that’s likely to always be with us.” Given her smaller frame, it required more of an effort on Hudson’s part to board the vehicle. As the soldiers began to pile in and take up their positions she strapped herself in next to Derwent, making sure first that her precious recorder was secured. “I’d like to personally eviscerate a few of whoever’s responsible for this myself.”
As the skimmer whined to life and began to lift he looked at her in surprise. “Seriously? You never struck me as the violent type.”
She glanced over at him, her petite features not far from his own. The optiplants glittered like herkimer diamonds. “I never saw two hundred dead children all huddled together in one place before, either.”
Derwent remembered the school, and his teeth clenched. Everyone had their limits. Despite his outwardly stoic demeanor he wanted to find something to hold responsible as badly as did everyone else. He wanted something to kill. Sure, he was first and foremost a professional, and he prided himself on his professional detachment.
But when it came down to it, no matter how hard he tried to affect an air of indifference and aloofness, he was only human.
9
The outrage and anger felt by the rest of humankind at the awful butchery that had taken place on Treetrunk were shared by every known sentient species. Ships of the thranx, the Pitar, the Quillp, and others were instructed as well as warned to be on the lookout for any unfamiliar or infrequently encountered species that might have the technological capability to perpetrate planetary genocide on the scale it had been committed on Argus V. This request from Earth was readily, even eagerly, complied with. In addition, the thranx and the Pitar of their own accord sent out ships whose mission was specifically to search for the home of an as yet unidentified and unknown race of maniacal aliens.
Nor did humans neglect to investigate possible motivations that might have arisen from within their own tortured racial history. Like any colony, Treetrunk had been settled by a heterogeneous broth of folk of every ethnic, religious, and social background. Nevertheless, the possibility that some powerful group, either from Earth itself or one of its distant colonies, held a grudge against a significant component of Treetrunk’s population could not be and was not ex officio ruled out. In the absence of explanation, no prospect, no matter how outrageous, was automatically discounted. Every theory was investigated, every suggestion taken, every lead acted upon.
But despite the remorseless and dedicated perseverance of both humans and their alien allies alike, nearly a year passed without so much as a single hint or clue emerging as to the identity of the perpetrators of the carnage. Human exploration and development of Earth’s recognized sphere of influence were slowed as xenophobia and fear on Earth and its existing colonies gained sway over those who favored continued expansion. Few people were anxious to settle on new worlds knowing that the butchers of Treetrunk’s six hundred thousand were still out there—unpunished, unidentified, and unknown—ready to annihilate the next rush of humans rash enough to try and settle themselves on yet another empty, inviting world.
On Earth and elsewhere recriminations raged among a distraught and frustrated populace. How could such a catastrophe have