The Cold War between the Kiiote and the Yown’Hoo has
become a shooting war. On Earth, there
are three Triads one each in Minneapolis, Estados United; Pune, India; and
Harbin, China. Protected by the Triad Corporation, they intend to integrate not
only the three peoples and stop the war that threatens to break loose and
slaughter Humans and devastate their world.; but to stop the war that consumes
Kiiote economy and Yown’Hoo moral fiber. The Yown’Hoo know about the
extra-Universe Braider, aliens whose own “civil war” mirrors the Cold War. The
Braiders accidentally created a resonance wave that will destroy the Milky Way
and the only way to stop it is to physically construct a sort of membrane that
will produce a canceling wave – generated from the rim of the Galaxy inward.
The Braiders don’t DO physical stuff on that scale – the Yown’Hoo-Kiiote-Human
Triads may be their only chance of creating a solution. The merger of
Human-Kiiote-Yown’Hoo into a van der Walls Society may produce a stability
capable of launching incredible expansion, creativity, longevity and wealth –
and building the Membrane to stop the wave.
The young experimental Triads are made up of the smallest
primate tribe of Humans –two; the smallest canine pack of Kiiote – six; and the
smallest camelid herd of Yown’Hoo – a prime eleven. On nursery farms and
ranches away from the TC cities, Humans have tended young Yown’Hoo and Kiiote
in secret for decades, allowing the two warring people to reproduce and grow
far from their home worlds. Grendl, Manitoba is one such place. No one but the
Triad Company has ever heard of it and the physical plant goes by the
unobtrusive name of Organic Prairie Dairy.
The city Triads never hear of anything they aren’t
spoon fed in their luxury worlds and have heard only rumors of the farms and
ranches. Surrounded by a Humanity that has degenerated into a “duck-and-cover”
society as the Big Boys fight their war, the Triads don’t care about anything
but their own lives. Oblivious, cocooned, manipulated, they have no idea that
their privileges are about to be violently curtailed and all of their biology
ransacked for the correct Membrane pattern. (update: 5/2/2014)
Having seen lots of old
movies where the driver of a car had to use something called a “clutch”, I was
glad I didn’t have to use one. I’m pretty sure I would have killed the engine
just then. As it was, when I slipped and floored the accelerator, I laid rubber
on the parking ramp, squealing the tires. Everyone in back screamed at me.
“Oscar!” Lieutenant Commander
Patrick Bakhsh shouted.
I slammed on the brakes.
Everyone screamed again. “What?”
Patrick cleared his throat,
held up his hand to the mini-riot that was breaking out in the back of the
bakery delivery truck. Everyone shut up. How does he do that? Everyone listens
to him – the Pack Masters, Pan and Zir
and the Mother of All Herds, Ji-Hi and the Solar System famous, St. Admiral,
hero of the defense of Earth. I said, “How do you do that.”
He waved at the parking lot,
ignoring me and said, “This time, accelerate gradually and build up inertia
slowly rather than trying to circumvent Newton’s Third Law.”
He was just being mean to me,
but I said, “Sure. No problem.” This time, my foot eased on the pedal and there
were no screams from the back. I’m pretty sure I heard Kashayla mutter
something, but I couldn’t quite hear it.
“Up the ramp to your right.
Slow down when you get to what’s left of the garage door.”
“What do you mean by that?” I
tried to say, but my voice cracked. I hate it when it does that.
“Nice signal,” Patrick said.
I shot him a look but he was staring through the windshield. “That way you know
the Kiiote will hear the higher frequencies of your statements and quiet down.”
“Why are they quieting down?”
He didn’t answer as we drove up the ramp, steeply tilting forcing everyone in
back to brace themselves as we moved. He motioned for me to slow down as we
came to a straight stretch of ramp.
“Because if we go too fast
and are so noisy, someone’s likely to take a shot at us.” He did something
under the dashboard and the truck started making deafening sounds. He shouted, “Stop
here!” He jumped from the truck as I hit the brakes. There were some hisses and
whistles from the back, but no one yelled at men. He scrambled over a pile of
twisted metal and broken stones. He strode into the center of the street ahead,
looked both ways, then waved at me.
I held my hands out, figuring
he didn’t want me to shout. Besides, no one could have heard me over the
rumbling coming from the truck. How was I supposed to drive over…
The entire pile of rubble
lifted up like it was hinged on the left hand side. Patrick waved me out and as
I pulled out, he ran up to the truck, jumped in and shouted, “Left and step on
it!”
This time there was no
protest as I did what he told me to do. No protest until something exploded in
the yard of the house across the street from the ramp.
Image: http://farm3.staticflickr.com/2827/10802727094_0ac7619e90_o.jpg
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