The BETA Agency

by Maxwell Coffie

  I was impressed and creeped out at the same time. “Why is everyone so relaxed? Don’t they have jobs?”

  The taxi driver answered me in the rolling, throaty accent of the K’har. “They have job. But they have too peace. It is why we call city K’hashar. Mean ‘Peace City’. Get?”

  I smiled. “Yes, I get it.”

  “Your people, they no understand us,” the driver continued, making waving gestures with his free hand. “They no like our Sher’eh. But why? T’sur esuar-be eh or toh k’nihr er emah? I no understand. We good people. ”

  I looked to Po, lost.

  “He’s saying the only reason our government doesn’t like theirs is because of our differences in philosophy,” she translated, and then added, “Of course, it’s a lot more complicated than that. There’s the ridiculous restriction on information flow and free speech, to begin with. They call K’har a world of wisdom and dialogue, even going so far as to call their leaders Sher’eh, or ‘teachers’. And then they turn right around and imprison those who speak out against their leaders.”

  The driver uttered something that sounded like a curse. “We no allow just anybody to talk bad things, bring confuse to people, teach bad thinking to good K’har people.” He was angry.

  “To be fair, the majority of the populace doesn’t seem to mind the restrictions,” Po said, dispassionately. “They’re much too busy eating their fancy meats, wearing their premium thread robes, and living throws above the cross-dimensional quality-of-life average to give a muck. K’har is the tangible equivalent of ‘ignorance is bliss’.”

  The driver said nothing, presumably because Po’s short exposition had exceeded his capacity for Auroran. Later on during the ride, I would hear him muttering what were likely K’har insults under his breath.

  “Don’t get excited though,” Po said. “Our meeting isn’t here in the city.”

  I sat back, and tried to relax. We drove for four hours, before the stylish skyscrapers gave way to a warm-coloured suburbia of clay homes. After another hour, the number of homes dwindled to zero and the hazy road disappeared into a golden dust path, flanked at both sides by savannah land.

  Occasionally, I spotted a herd of K’har bulls in the distance; their hulking masses plodding across the yellow grass, their trunks swinging from side to side, their sheeny black fur glinting in the hot light. I stared at the grey horns curling out of the heads of the she-bulls, and shuddered. Those things could rip a man in half, I’d heard. Yet, there were the K’har shepherds, coaxing them into the right directions with switches and the soft but compelling swells of sonorous horns.

  K’har had the most diverse and thriving animal kingdom, and was known for its meat production. This was despite the fact that a large percentage of K’har’s fauna were made up of dangerous, often downright lethal creatures. Unsurprisingly, it was K’har’s most dangerous animals that tasted the most delicious after sitting on a grill.

  My stomach rumbled at the thought of food. I hadn’t eaten in over six hours. But our journey wasn’t over yet. Soon, the savannah was gone, and there was just sand as far as the eye could see.

  I closed my eyes, and tried not to mind the heat. When I opened my eyes again, I realized that I’d been asleep. Impossibly, it was brighter, hotter. I squinted out the window. We were in a town—a community, as K’har towns were officially called. The buildings were no higher than two storeys, made of light brown bricks.

  The K’har people here were more wary of us; they stared as our driver drove us down their stone paved streets. I noticed that there were a lot of uniformed men in this community: lean towering figures in dark blue robes, wearing silver expressionless masks on their faces. They were the S’renki, their law enforcement. I also spotted a few military personnel: built K’har men and women, wrapped tightly and almost entirely in black strips of cloth. Their glossy hair and piercing blue eyes were all that were uncovered. Said blue eyes followed us closely as we drove by.

  “What’s with all the security?” I whispered to Po.

  Po didn’t look as comfortable as I’d have liked. “Sometimes their law enforcement helps to conduct censuses.”

  “Censuses?”

  “Or something. It’s probably nothing.”

  I took a deep breath, and tried to relax.

  We pulled up to a small motel. Po and I got our bags out of the trunk, and then Po handed the driver some K’har paper currency.

  The motel was tired on the outside, and dark and cool on the inside. No bright colours here. The patron was partial to mauve, and had used it abundantly in everything from upholstery to wall hanging. There were blocks of K’har text scribbled intermittently on the walls, even in the room Po and I would share.

  I ran my fingers over the squiggly scratches in the clay wall above my bed.

  “Passages from the Tal K’har,” Po said, setting her bag on her bed. “It’s K’har custom to inscribe scripture into the walls of their homes and establishments.” She opened her bag, and looked up. “Do you know what the Tal K’har is?”

  I nodded. The Tal K’har, or the Tablet of Peace, was a set of principles purporting to provide its adherers with eternal peace. Initially, the Tal K’har had been a set of six principles, chiselled into the surface of a stone tablet. Over time, the tablet had been further expatiated into an entire library of scrolls, books, and most recently, cyber-link screens and database servers.

  I was aware that many scholars from across the dimensions looked down on the Tal K’har for the nature of its principles. The Tal K’har was the embodiment of the principle outcome over manner. It was not restricted by moral or ethical codes—only by its own ultimate objective; that was to achieve the greatest amount of peace between the largest number of people.

  Yet, the Tal K’har was the foundation upon which K’har laws were based. Which was why in K’har, the death penalty was so freely dealt out to criminals. Dead criminals meant less crime meant more peace. Supposedly. The Tal K’har was one of many reasons why the K’har government did not see eye to eye with the governments of other worlds—particularly Aurora’s.

  An unsettling thought occurred to me.

  “Po,” I asked, “does Beta have authority to operate in K’har?”

  “No,” she said, without hesitation.

  My stomach turned. “So what happens if their S’renki make us?”

  “Get some rest.”

  “I’d like an answer first.”

  Po didn’t answer me. She took a small silver case out of her bag, snapped the bag shut, and shoved it under her bed. I watched her open the case, and take out a syringe. It was a large syringe. She stabbed the needle into her thigh, and pushed an orange, luminous liquid into her body.

  She took a deep breath, and placed the case in a drawer by her bedside.

  She finally turned back to me. “We’ll be fine. Get some rest. I’ll be back.” She strode to the door.

  “Wait,” I said, quickly. “Is there room service here? I haven’t eaten in forever.”

  Po looked unsympathetic. “I’ll bring you something on my return.” She threw me one last look. “Stay put.” With that, she walked out of the room.

  I sighed, and sat on the bed. My stomach rumbled. I needed something to get my mind off food.

  There was a screen, so I turned that on. There was a K’har drama on. I opted for Auroran subtitles over the over-enunciated voice dub, and settled in to watch. It was a romantic drama about the forbidden love between a K’har princess and a pauper…who was Auroran. Classic stuff. Classic boring stuff.

  I hated mushy shows.

  At one point, my eyes wandered to the drawer into which Po had tossed her silver case. I hesitated, and then, resisted the urge to snoop.

  I endured about an hour of the drama before switching the screen off. I stepped into the bathroom to wash the K’har dust off my body. The bathroom was cramped; there were scriptures in the walls here too. The tub was small, perfectly round, and made of black porcelain.


  I slipped out of my clothes and stepped into the tub. There was a barrel of water and a pail next to the tub. I used the grainy mound of soap on the rim of the tub, and washed myself as thoroughly as I could. The available towel was large and thick—even annoyingly so. I got lost in the folds and tangles at a point.

  When I stepped back into the bedroom, Po was back. She was sitting on her bed, pushing another syringe of orange luminosity into her body, this time through her shoulder.

  She caught me staring at her. “Eat and get dressed,” she ordered, gesturing at items on my bed: a paper-wrapped lump and a grey robe.

  I unwrapped the lump to find skewered meat, two rolls of bread and a bottle of water. Maybe it was the hunger, but it was the best meat and bread I’d ever had.

  Po was already wearing her grey robe, and she waited for me to dress up. I got some fresh clothes from my travel bag. Feeling awkward, I dropped my towel and tried to slip into my blouse and three-quarter length denims as quickly as possible.

  “Look away,” I muttered, when I realized Po was watching me.

  “Don’t flatter yourself,” she said, but she looked away anyway.

  I finally threw the robe over my clothes and declared I was done.

  “Pull the hood over your head,” she said, as she did the same. “We need to blend.”

  Yes, because there’s nothing suspicious at all about a pair of cloaked foreigners, I thought, as I followed Po out of the door.

  Outside, the sun had turned the blood-red hue of approaching night. There was a metal-black bike parked outside our motel, its nearly silent engine still running. A soft blue light shone on the pavement beneath the vehicle; where the bike should’ve had wheels, there were flat metal disks covered in glowing rubriq. It was a hover bike.

  Po straddled the floating machine.

  “Where did you find a hover bike?” I asked.

  “Get on,” she answered.

  I obeyed.

  The streets were fairly populated as we drove through them. I immediately understood why Po had gotten us the robes; it seemed that hooded robes were a fairly popular evening garment. Though, to be honest, our robes were like rags compared to the richly coloured, patterned robes of the locals.

  The more I looked around, the more I realized that we were hardly the only foreigners in the community. I watched other Lilliths, Rubies, and Hitis, dressed in evening robes, having dinner in the public squares and on elevated patios. I don’t know how Po knew I was looking around, but she snapped over her shoulder, “Keep your head down. There could be S’renki around.”

  I bowed my head for the rest of the drive through the community. The next time I looked up, the community was far behind us, and we were zooming through the desert. For as far as my eyes could see, there was sand, and it rippled beneath the sweeping hand of the wind, a boundless pond.

  The last rays of red disappeared from the sky, as the sun completed its transformation into the moon. Soon, instead of warm yellow light, the orb above us radiated a cold pale luminescence. The desert sand twinkled beneath and around us, in reaction to the light.

  “This desert is beautiful at night,” I remarked.

  Po said nothing.

  I repeated my remark, louder this time.

  “I heard you the first time,” she snapped.

  I frowned. “What’s with you? Did I do something to offend you?”

  Po ignored me. I sighed, and we continued to drive.

  After an indiscernible passage of time, I tried to strike up conversation again, “So, I noticed that you had to give yourself two shots today. What are you, diabetic or something?”

  Nothing.

  “Are you sick?” I persisted.

  “That’s none of your business,” she answered.

  I was annoyed now. “Um, it is my business, since because you haven’t told me squat about what we’re doing or where we’re going, I’m left with the unsavoury option of trusting my life in your hands. The Director said you would brief me when we got here, but so far all I’ve gotten from you is a blatant dismissiveness that makes me want to strangle you.”

  “We’re going to meet a contact,” Po snapped. “I thought that was obvious.”

  “What the bleak is your problem? You’ve been pissy with me since I joined the agency.”

  “You aren’t part of the agency. You’re a minor, temporary inconvenience,” she spat, before muttering under her breath, “Until King comes to his senses.”

  I frowned. “Obviously, you’re not happy about the role your boss is making me play. Hey, I didn’t ask for this gig. You came looking for me, remember?”

  Po said nothing.

  “You know it’s interesting,” I began, coolly, “back when you were pretending to be Dr. Starr, you acted the role of the distraught lover quite convincingly. The way you reached for his hand in that psyche facility, the way you looked at him, eyes brimming with concern; very nice touches.”

  Silence, but for the soft hum of our vehicle’s engine and the rushing desert wind.

  “Of course,” I added, “now I wonder if it was an act at all. I’m going to take a stab at this—stop me if I’m wrong: you care about King. A lot. He cares about you too, but not in the way you want, judging by how dismissive he was of you in that psyche facility. His romantic affections, I can see, have always belonged to the woman I’m now pretending to be. How am I doing so far?”

  Po was silent, but I could feel fury radiating from her.

  I kept going. “Somewhere in your mind you hoped that with Fey gone, you finally stood a chance. But then I came along, bearing her resemblance; and in some odd twisted way, it was like Fey had come right back between you and King again.” I had gathered momentum now. “Your anger is rooted in petty jealousy, Po. Jealousy that isn’t even my mucking fault. If you care so damn much about him, why don’t you just tell h—“

  “Shut the muck up!” Po hissed.

  “What?” I was flabbergasted. “No I won’t—“

  But Po had shut off our bike’s mana reactor, and right afterwards, she tackled me into the sand and clasped her hand tightly over my mouth. I struggled with her at first, convinced that she was trying to start a fight. But then I followed her panicked eyes, and I saw them: on the horizon, silhouettes in the moonlight, a convoy of motorized bikes. I could faintly hear the roar of their engines from here.

  “Who are they?” I whispered.

  “Patrolling S’renki,” she whispered back.

  “Muck,” I breathed. Now, I knew why Po had gone through the trouble of procuring us a hover bike.

  “Just keep still. They’ll pass,” she reassured me.

  Sure enough, after a few moments, the bikes disappeared in the distance. Po stood up and offered me a hand. I took it.

  In the time it took me to take half a breath, she had yanked me up, kicked my feet from under me, and planted my face back into the earth. Every unit of skin on my face smarted. I felt her breath on my temple as I wriggled.

  “Jealousy?” she sneered into my ear. “Don’t flatter yourself, you overrated has-been government employee. I care about King because we share a bond an immature woman-child like you could never understand. And I cannot stand you because you’re willingly partaking in the deception of my partner.”

  I was struggling to breathe. “But,” I managed to sputter, “You’re going along with it too, aren’t you?” I twisted my head enough to meet her eye. “A bit of the ‘clod calling the lump uneven’ going on here, don’t you think?”

  Po looked like she was going to punch me. But then, she let go of me, and sat in the sand next to me, trembling with what I assumed was frustration.

  I coughed, spat, and sat up.

  After I had calmed down, I murmured, “I’m sorry about what I said.”

  “No you’re not,” she murmured back.

  “No,” I admitted. “Not really. But I am sorry that I scratched at whatever old scabs exist between you, King, and Fey.”

  “Wha
tever,” Po said, but I could feel some of her anger against me subsiding. After a few moments, she hesitated, and then said, “She was never good enough for him.” Her tone was tinged with bitterness and, a vulnerability that took me by surprise.

  I hesitated. “You mean Fey?”

  “You think I’m a bat?” Po’s smile was derisive. “You should have met her. She constantly put his life—all our lives—in danger. She was strong, so she was reckless. And she was changing him, making him just like her.”

  “I thought the Director said she brought out the best in him,” I muttered.

  “Yeah, she would say that,” Po said, her tone dark. She exhaled, as if releasing all of her pent up anger. “She was just” she finally said “…plain wrong for him.”

  I didn’t know what to say.

  “Yet even after all the years she was gone,” Po said, her gaze glued to the sand, “she was still the only thing that could convince him to leave that facility. He’s still in love with her.” She looked up at me, and I noticed some disdain in her eyes. “Which means,” she said, “that right now he thinks he’s in love with you. You have no idea the kind of power you have right now.”

  “Po,” I said. “I am only here to take down the piece of muck who killed my partner. Nothing else.”

  Po glared back, as if trying to delve into the farthest reaches of my mind. If she was, then I was open to her probe; I had nothing to hide.

  Finally, Po stood up, and dusted off the seat of her robe. She offered me her hand. I eyed her invitation with some hesitancy, but I took it. This time, I reached the upright position safely.

  We got back onto the hover bike, and rode into the night.

  CHAPTER 35

  We pulled into what appeared to be an abandoned town. The buildings were composed of crumbling clay, and shrouded in shadows. A blanket of moonlight coloured the air pale blue. As we floated down the streets, even the soft hum of our hoverbike echoed emptily against the tired walls.

  Po parked us in the shadow of one of the few standing buildings.