Destroyer of Worlds Read Online Free PDF Page A

knowledge
wasn’t
a clue to Earth’s location.
    Unless, that was, Earth
was
like New Terra, and Sigmund’s memory of a normal star had been planted as a false clue. . . .
    It would be nice to know something for certain.
    At one time he could have gone in one step directly from home oroffice to his meeting with the governor. How insane was
that
? Stepping-disc access to the world leader’s own office! Everyone here trusted the teleportation system, no matter that the Puppeteers had designed and deployed it. No matter that, until a few years ago, the humans on this world had been unwitting slaves, the Puppeteers their absolute masters, and this world, then one among the Fleet of Worlds, was known simply as Nature Preserve Four. And it wasn’t terrestrial life the Puppeteers had cared to preserve here, outside of the enclave that sustained their slaves. Pines and oaks, not purple bug-eating hedges, were the oddities here.
    None too soon, Sigmund completed his march across the plaza. Outside the Governor’s Building armed guards saluted. The squad leader extended a hand, palm up, for identification. “Good morning, Minister,” she said.
    â€œGood morning, Lieutenant.” The lesson had taken years to set in, but
everyone
was to be checked for proper identification. Even the minister of defense. Even the world governor herself.
    Sigmund took an ID disc from his pocket. He pressed his thumb against the sensor pad, and up popped a holo bearing his name and likeness against a shimmering backdrop of New Terra.
    Beyond the security checkpoint people milled about the foyer. So did the occasional Puppeteer—only Puppeteer was a term from Earth and politically incorrect here. The aliens—locals—called themselves Citizens. After independence thousands of Citizens had chosen to stay. Native New Terrans saw nothing strange in that: Life anywhere off the home world marked a Citizen as low-status or an outcast, if not insane. Why not make a new life here?
    Sigmund had another explanation. Many of the stay-behinds, surely, were spies.
    Spy or not, one could never mistake a Puppeteer for anything else. He—females never appeared in public—stood on a tripod of two forelegs and a massive, complexly jointed hind leg. The torso reminded Sigmund of an ostrich, only the leathery hide lacked feathers. Two serpentine necks—vaguely sock-puppetlike, hence the nickname on Earth—emerged from between muscular shoulders. Each flat, triangular head had an ear, an eye, and a mouth. The mouth also served as a hand, with tongue and knobby lips substituting for fingers. The bony hump between the necks, padded with a thick mane, encased the brain.
    Except for a belt or sash for pockets, Puppeteers wore no clothing. Like fabric selections among New Terrans, mane coiffures indicated status amongPuppeteers. Even the few Puppeteers in the lobby exhibited a wide range of braids and curls, ribbons and jewels.
    As Sigmund’s eyes swept across the lobby, at people and Puppeteers alike, he wondered: Which of you are spies?
    The lieutenant finished her scrutiny and returned his holo ID. “Thank you, Minister.”
    An aide waiting just inside the main entrance led Sigmund to the governor’s outer office. More sentries stood there; Sigmund presented his ID again before he was permitted inside to meet, alone, with the governor.
    Sabrina Gomez-Vanderhoff looked more like a doting grandmother than the planetary leader. Her office was spartan and unassuming, decorated only with potted plants—all, blessedly, of terrestrial green—and holos of her family. Sigmund had known junior accountants with fancier offices.
    No wonder he liked her.
    â€œMorning, Sigmund,” Sabrina said. Titles came out only on public occasions or around junior staff. Her slacks and blouse combined a riot of color and texture that doubtless—he would need Penny to truly understand—befit Sabrina’s