Distant Shores - Marco Palmieri [85]
Zolacroy, at the head of the group, aimed a devilish one-eyed look at the young, gold-furred soldier pointing the blaster at his chest. “Why are you afraid, my child?” he said slowly. “Is it possible the oshozola has come for you?”
“Never!” snapped the soldier. His brows, which were a lighter gold than the rest of his fur, were knit together in an angry glare. “The closest I ever come to you diseased vermin is when I shoot you in the jungle for target practice!”
“You do realize why we’re here, don’t you?” Zolacroy said with a chuckle. “Someone here at Ramana carries the duluzola. We could smell it all the way from Bahuzola.”
The blaster barrel twitched. “Maybe we should leave without taking the zola with us,” said Zolacroy. “Do you know, there are no visible signs of the duluzola in the disease’s early stages, yet it is highly contagious?”
The soldier hesitated only a moment more before stepping aside, though he never lowered the blaster. Zolacroy paused and sniffed in the soldier’s direction on his way past… then smiled ominously. “See you later,” he said to the soldier as he started forward again.
As the group hobbled into the militia camp, Seven lowered her head and pulled the hood of her cloak further forward, hoping to hide her Borg implants. To complete her disguise as a zola, she leaned heavily on her crutch and exaggerated her stagger, which had been lessening as her broken leg healed.
Stumbling along beside her, Zolaluz also wore a hooded black cloak, as did the others. Stitched on front and back with the red “X” symbol of the oshozola, the cloaks eased passage through the camp, which came as a relief after the laborious trek through the jungle to get there. Seeing the ominous cloaked figures approach, worried soldiers were eager to get out of their way.
“What did I tell you?” whispered Zolasova. “They’re scared of us. We have the run of the place!”
“Take care!” hissed Zolaluz. “Every one of them would rather kill us than be taken to Bahuzola.”
As the six of them shuffled forward, all on crutches but Zolasova, soldiers stopped what they were doing and watched silently. If they weren’t armed already, they laid hands on rifles and drew pistols from holsters without taking their eyes off the unwelcome visitors. When Zolacroy, to heighten the suspense, led the procession closer to one man or another, every soldier held his breath and tightened his grip on his weapon.
Some of the soldiers along the way held out stubby candles that sent up acrid, black smoke. When Seven asked about the candles, Zolacroy explained. “The men hope that the smoke will mask the scent of the duluzola, if any is present. They should know by now that nothing will keep us from sniffing out a fellow zola.”
When they had gone a little farther, Zolaluz touched Seven’s arm. “Your captain is alive,” she said softly. “I can tell.”
A wave of relief washed through Seven, but she gave no hint of it. “What else?” she said.
“They are torturing her,” said Zolaluz, and then she reached for Seven’s hand and squeezed it. “But I know just where she is.”
Shambling between rows of tents and soldiers, the band of zolas began a low chant… and the militiamen along the way became visibly more uneasy.
Some soldiers actually fled as the chant grew steadily louder. Those who remained raised their weapons and trained them on the zolas as they passed.
The five voices continued to climb… and then, all at once, they stopped, as did the procession.
Zolacroy raised a finger to point at a black-furred man whose red uniform was heavy with medals and badges. The man in red looked around at his entourage of officers and bodyguards, trying to figure out which one the zola had chosen.
He was in for a surprise.
“General Krozar,” Zolacroy said solemnly. “The oshozola has come for you.”
The man in red looked stunned. “Excuse me?” he said.
Zolacroy stepped toward Krozar, raised his snout, and drew a deep breath. “Yes,