Moon Flower by James P. Hogan Page A

ready to buy his line as soon as water starts turning red and there are bodies falling over.”
    “Sounds like an upstream injection,” Callen said.
    “Uh-huh.”
    “What are we using?”
    “PF13-C followed up by an aerosol herbicide. If that doesn’t work, a denatured local gastric virus. Latency five days. Peaks after two weeks. Mortality ten percent.”
    “Redesignated operational?” Callen checked.
    “Yup,” Krieg confirmed. “Code word Bistro.”
    Callen nodded and made a mental note of it. Then, changing his mind, he got up and went over to the cabinet to pour a measure of brandy while he went over the details again in his head.
    Amaranth possessed an anthropoid-pongid race that had spread to most of the planet’s habitable areas, and in its most advanced manifestations reached a stage of erecting large stone structures and warring with metal weapons and animal-drawn chariots that looked surprisingly like their earlier Terran predecessors. And, also in keeping with many Terran precedents, the rulers were often jealously protective of their image, and not disposed to subordinate themselves to the authority of intrusive aliens, whatever technological advances or other gimmicks they might have to offer.
    The usual Terran ploy was to find an envious rival or ambitious enemy who could be lured by the prospect of commanding unmatchable firepower, after which it was simply a case of playing one against the other until a winner emerged, who would from then on be a dependent, and therefore dependable, puppet to keep the population in line and ensure that the dues for all the ensuing benefits were collected. But it sometimes happened that no suitable candidates presented themselves, and the reigning native powers were relatively settled and content, with differences limited to occasional squabbles and small-scale skirmishes. Such was the situation in Amaranth.
    However, such societies could be breached by appeal to religious superstition. Zannibe belonged to an enterprising clan of nomadic astrologer-diviners who made a living out of scaring wealthy and powerful, but gullible, patrons — which usually lasted until they were either lynched or deemed it prudent to move on. On getting some glimpses of the powers and real magic wielded by the alien god-figures who had appeared from the sky, Zannibe had become an instant ally and readily placed himself and the small group of kin currently following him at their disposal to be coached in a scheme to subvert the ruler of a distant nation called Jorst, whose name was Xeo and who was proving recalcitrant.
    In essence, the plan was straightforward. By Krieg’s account, Zannibe had already been insinuated to speak at the court of Xeo, where he would have delivered a prophecy of a plague about to befall the land, that would be signaled by the river turning red. Xeo’s own priests, of course, would know nothing about this, since they didn’t have the benefit of a contact man to the Milicorp commando group that Krieg had quietly set up, equipped with the chemicals to make it happen. Synchronized with the arrival of the discolored waters at Xeo’s capital city on the region’s major river, drones deployed upwind would release a quantity of airborne toxins sufficient to destroy crops and induce sickness among inhabitants and livestock on a scale that no one would have difficulty in recognizing as a “plague.” The preferred outcome would then be to see the incumbent priesthood discredited and dismissed and Zannibe installed with honors as the new official seer and advisor to the throne, whereupon the pestilence would magically cease, and in due course a more cooperative policy could be expected to unfold — not the least reason being that Zannibe would find himself in need of comparably magical protection from the vengeful priests.
    But if that failed, more drastic measures would be employed. By “denatured,” Krieg meant that the viral DNA would degenerate with each