“And that justified killing everyone? That is a rhetorical question. The answer is no.”
“He didn’t think it through,” another koo-ko piped up.
“He swallowed the capsule before arriving here. That’s premeditation.”
“Mercy,” Thek squawked.
“You don’t understand the fervor of a spirited debate,” a koo-ko from another cage said.
“Some debates aren’t worth having.”
An outraged chorus of squawks protested.
“There is always a benefit in the debate,” Thek said.
“Name one debate that’s not worth having,” another koo-ko called out.
“What came first, the chicken or the egg?”
A stunned silence answered.
“Obviously the chicken came first,” a voice called out. “Someone had to have laid the egg.”
“The chicken had to have hatched from something,” another koo-ko countered.
I amplified my voice to a low thunder. “It doesn’t matter. No value can be gained from debating it. No benefit to society, no improvement in the quality of life or advancement of science. It’s a pointless question. None of you are looking for the truth. You simply like to argue and brawl.”
My captives stared at me in outrage. I had done the impossible. I had unified the koo-ko.
The young koo-ko dangled from the root, looking sad and pitiful. I could jettison him from the grounds to some terrible planet. I could put him into solitary confinement which would almost certainly drive him mad. Ultimately, half of the responsibility for this disaster rested on my shoulders. I should have scanned them more carefully when they entered, and I should have reacted faster. I wasn’t an amateur. I knew the koo-ko reputation.
“I will spare him on one condition. The lot of you will go back to your chambers and debate a question of my choosing.”
They murmured to each other.
“I require an answer now.”
“We will save the young one,” Thek said. “Ask your question.”
“If it could be decided which one of your ancestors was the first founder, will your society as a whole benefit from it, and how? This is a timed debate. I will require an answer by five p.m. tomorrow.”
“It is a worthy question,” Thek announced. “We will debate. You will have your answer.”
Like most Texans, I measured distance in hours. San Antonio was roughly three hours away. The show started taping at two, and Sean left by nine thirty. He was accompanied by two oversized combat friends, one tall, dark haired and still resembling a Polynesian, but without curly blond locks or pink eyes, and the other equally tall and heavily bearded. I warned them that small children would mistake Orro for Hagrid, which Sean found amusing.
The day proceeded with minimal emergencies. I ordered more Grand Burgers and delivered them to the Drífen. What Orro didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. As much as I didn’t want to undercut Orro’s struggle, in the end, it wasn’t about Orro or his feelings. A guest made a request, and it was within my power to grant it.
The koo-ko proceeded to debate, with the would-be assassin participating from a permanent spot in his own personal claw. I had deep scanned all of them and hadn’t found any other foreign objects.
Wilmos came and delivered a massive amount of weapons. I thought of installing them but decided to wait for Sean.
I had tea with Caldenia and we watched Tom Laurent approach Peterson’s spy. Tom knocked on the window until the man rolled it down.
“Are you vice?” Tom demanded.
“No,” the spy said.
“Are you here surveilling my wife?”
“Buddy, I don’t know who your wife is.”
Tom squinted at the spy. “I know you can deny being a cop if you’re undercover. Listen, if you are building a case against my wife, I’ve got her on film. I have all of her visitors on video. And you may want to tell your buddies in narcotics that they might be doing meth in there. It’s sex and drugs. The more charges the better.”
The spy stared at him.
“I’ll testify, I’ll wear a wire.”
“Sir, what the hell are you talking about?”
“I’m fighting for custody here. Throw me a bone.”
Officer Marais chose this moment to pull up behind the spy in his cruiser. The spy took off and Tom proceeded to tell Marais his tale of woe. Marais listened to him for about five minutes and informed him that who his wife chose to let into her home and how that affected her rights to custody was a matter for family court. If he suspected drug use, he was welcome to file a report online. Tom moved on and after a while Marais did too.
At six p.m. I served the dinner Orro had prepped and texted Sean to see if he was okay. He texted back OMW and nothing else.
I tried to read, then I tried to watch TV, then I walked back and forth through the inn, and by the time his car pulled into the driveway, I had worried myself into being a basket case.
I watched the three of them get out of the car. Everyone still had the right number of appendages. They were fine. Of course they were fine. I’d worried for nothing. I met them as they entered the front room. Sean’s face radiated controlled fury.
Uh oh.
Sean pointed down the hall. The humanizer illusion collapsed and Orro took off at an alarming speed. Qoros patted Sean’s shoulder and went to his rooms. Sean collapsed into a chair.
“So, how did it go?” I was almost afraid to ask.
Sean made a fart noise.
“Did Qoros make a scene at the Alamo?”
Sean shook his head.
“You’re killing me. What is it? What happened?”
He passed a tiny data card to me. I tossed at the nearest wall. It swallowed it and a huge screen appeared, playing a recording. Sean, Qoros, and Orro sat in chairs. The angle of the recording suggested a camera hovering high above them from the side. Sean must have launched a surveillance unit. It was about the size of a walnut and it was programed to hide, a fly on the proverbial wall.
The show started. I had no idea how they even managed to get in on such short notice.
On stage Garry Keys chopped vegetables like his life depended on it, lecturing about the benefits of organic produce and purple carrots. The show was filmed in spurts, allowing for commercial breaks. At times a stagehand stopped Garry to tell him something or to adjust something in the shot. Orro fidgeted in his seat, leaning forward, fascinated, making chopping motions with his hands. The sight of Sean bookended by two giant, somewhat freaky-looking humans was slightly comical.
Garry Keys finished sautéing his vegetables, placed the duck in the oven, and a commercial break was called. An assistant blotted Garry’s forehead. Another assistant took the raw duck out of the oven and replaced it with a perfectly roasted bird. Garry waived at him. The assistant brought the cooked duck over. Garry examined it critically and made a comment. The assistant produced a bottle of soy sauce and a brush. He strategically painted the bird, darkening the skin. Garry examined it again, gave it two thumbs up, and it went back into the oven. Meanwhile, another assistant replaced the pot with vegetables.
Orro stared at the stage. The humanizer did its best to mimic emotions, but I couldn’t tell what Orro was feeling. He looked like a deer in headlights.