Page 49 of The Commander

Scratches and minor cuts covered her knees. They hurt to bend, but she’d had worse. There was a cut somewhere on her back side too, making itself known every time she moved in her seat.

“I told you. Danov is holding all the food as a protection fee. He calls it his tithe. If people don’t pay the tithe, he accuses them of not doing their fair share. The only way he would let Brenda and I pay the tithe was on our backs. We wouldn’t so we got kicked out.”

“Kicked out?”

“He closed the gate on our asses and told us not to come back about an hour before the fucking sun goes down. And you know what happens then.”

The alien didn’t blink. “Yes. I do know.”

“There’s a squatters camp down by the river. It’s hidden in some brush and trees and the muzzle heads don’t bother it.”

“I did not know that.”

“There was an old guy there. Some others.” Cara watched his expression carefully.

His expression didn’t change.

“I started looking for food as soon as I could. But the whole area is barren. Is there radiation here?”

“No. Nothing like that. That’s all cleaned up.”

“Well, something scared away all the extra game outside the town and up and down the river. No fish. Nothing. There aren’t even any rats.” She’d looked. Desperately.

“How often does the duty come to town?” he asked.

“The duty?”

“The red hats.”

“Who?”

“Alien soldiers, the muzzle heads,” she clarified.

He made a noise in his throat that sounded like impatience. “How often do you see the hairy aliens in your town?”

“There are two every day. Danov must pay them the protection fee. But other than that, they come on Fridays and check in with Danov, unless he reports in earlier because someone broke one of the laws.”

The ointment was cold when it hit her skin, startling Cara. She jumped and kicked out. He caught her leg, less than a second after her brain sent the impulse to react to the cold, moving so quickly. His muscles didn’t even bulge. He just caught her. Held her still.

“Two every day? You wouldn’t by any chance know the numbers on their cheeks, would you?”

“Those squiggle tattoos are numbers? I knew it.” Cara had always suspected.

He grunted. “I have arrangements with the human leadership of the towns. They obey my laws, no one dies. Every town, every working human, pays the same the tax.”

“There was no tithe in Springfield,” Cara said. She hadn’t loved it there. The single people lived in dorms, rather than private houses. All the work available was backbreaking farm work. They gave the easier stuff to a large population of senior citizens and teenagers.

“I send the duty to count, record, and pick up the taxes every month. If there is any help needed to maintain peace or provide protection, the mayor sends a message. I’ll send the duty or take care of it myself.” Once he’d smeared the cold stuff on her knee, he searched for other injuries. Or else he just ran a hand up and down her leg, feeling her up.

“There is no need for protection from the red hats.” He spread the ointment over cuts on her elbow. “The duty is supposed to patrol for wankers, be seen, and make sure thereis order at all times. They are not supposed to interfere in daily life.”

She nodded. She’d rarely seen the muzzle heads in Springfield. The mayor there had a few people to keep order because the little Friday night bar had alcohol, but no alien presence in the town at all until tax day.

She’d heard a story that once during the collection, some idiots tried to set a trap for the aliens. The aliens responded by ruthlessly going through the town and killing every male over the age of ten. Had Commander Bastian ordered that? Had he gone himself to deal with it?

She thought he probably had.

“They don’t know your rituals, why would they? You humans were supposed to govern yourselves in your little towns,” he said.

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