“Of course not. That would be ridiculous. I merely expect you to hurry over to the base commandant and convey my request that he meet me discreetly. Only then will we discuss how he can render me assistance.”
She inspected the monitoring device mounted on the wall behind him.
“Now that,” she said, “is amusing. The system records micro-tremors in your voice, your sweat levels, and all that, but it’s only a second opinion. I’m trained to detect the truth, which is after all why we’re all here today, Captain Fitzwilliam. And I’m convinced that you genuinely are telling the truth as you see it. Which makes you one insane old coot.”
“If you insist on making disparaging remarks about my age, let me point out something about yours that you are failing to grasp. The problem we face is not that I’m too old, but that you are too young. You don’t recognize the code phrase, but I bet you know something similar, don’t you? The kind of thing an agent of the Federation might slip in to communicate something to his interrogator without blowing his cover.”
“Where are you headed with this?”
“Humor me. Come on, you’re enjoying this. Admit it. I’m offering you the kind of story you can tell your friends in the mess room. So let me go one tiny step further in my story. How long have you served here?”
She shrugged. “Let’s say it’s about a decade.”
“A decade. That’s dedication, and I thank you for your service to our glorious Federation. But as you like to point out, I’m not a kid anymore. I’ve been on sabbatical for almost two decades. I regret placing you in this position, but your career is now at a junction point. It will either ascend or implode depending on what you do in the next few moments. Go find someone who served here twenty years ago, use that code phrase on them, and then tell that damned base commandant of yours to shift his butt and render me all possible assistance. Immediately!”
The interrogator went pale. She left the room, having first rammed the sensory deprivation hood over him and tightening it around his neck so his breathing was reduced to painful gasps.
After a few minutes in a slow drift toward asphyxiation, she returned.
At least, someone did.
“Who are you?” demanded the voice of an older woman than his previous friend.
He gasped pitifully, and she loosened the hood.
“You must’ve really pissed off Lorilein. Who are you, really?”
“Wh… wh… why don’t you remove the hood and see for yourself?”
She yanked it off and glowered into his face. She didn’t recognize him immediately, but her attention kept returning to his purple eyes. Then her mouth dropped open in shock.
“That’s right,” said Fitz. He beamed at her. “I’m the spy who came in from the void.”
“You’re Zi’Alfu?”
“Lieutenant Commander Zahyn Zi’Alfu. But you seem nice. You can call me Fitz.”
IZZA ZAN FEY
The auroral footprints of the flux tube danced along the glowing black coals of the Dyson ring. The ring itself was barely visible, but to Izza it outshone in magnificence the banded giant ball of gas it orbited, a planet the human astral cartographers had named Tej Prime.
On the far side of the ring, hidden from the Phantom’s crew by the planet’s bulk, a matching pitter patter of jade light danced in lockstep with those fairy footprints. Viewed from above the planet’s poles, the interaction between the two flux tubes and the ring was a manifestation of a primitive myth common to many species: sun and moons chasing each other across the skies in a pursuit that will last until the end of days.
Izza liked to think Tej Prime’s light show was similarly eternal. It was so beautiful that she could forget her cares for a while.
Even forget Fitz.
She’d heard no word from him since a Legion squadron had escorted them from Cyan-1-4 orbiting Regina-Ventu, depositing them at the sector’s main base of military operations here in the Tej system. Along with the rest of Phantom’s crew, she lost herself inside the vista in silent awe. All but Lynx, who sulked a short distance away.
“It is a glory,” whispered Fregg. “Nothing like it in the galaxy.”
“In the known galaxy,” Catkins corrected.
Lynx buzzed irritably and floated back to the group. “Of which your combined races have so far explored approximately three quarters of one percent of one percent of one percent of one percent. Your knowledge of the galaxy is less than a rounding error. It is essentially zero. There must be numerous structures more impressive than the Tej Prime Dyson Ring of which you are ignorant.”
“Be quiet, droid,” snapped Izza. “Tej Prime is a wonder to be marveled at. You wouldn’t understand. There’s no soul inside your metal case.”
“Superstitious primitive nonsense. There’s no soul inside your green casing either, Lieutenant Zan Fey.”
Izza’s skin flushed with verdant rage. She drew an EMP disc from her belt and inspected it closely.
Lynx bobbed away, hiding behind Sinofar’s broad body.
One day that robot would push her too far.
One day soon, given the way he had been acting lately.
Sighing, she returned the EMP device to her belt and addressed the pilot of this pleasure cruise. “Take us through the flux tube, if you please.”
“Changing course for the plasma torus, aye,” Fregg responded. With a whoop of sheer joy, she speared them down through the Dyson ring.
From outer orbit, the high energy interaction between planet and ring had appeared as a rotating ethereal light. Close up, it revealed itself to be splashes of brilliant jade fire that rose hundreds of klicks above the ring. The matt black smoothness of the ring itself also revealed complex form and structure. Individual nuggets were penned in by giant-scale hexagonal netting in which each knot was a hyper-efficient power station.
Fregg brought them through the plane of the artificial ring and shot out through the flux tube on the other side. The tube stuck out from the planet like a jug handle. It was the result of ionized ejecta thrown out by the ring and then trapped inside the gas giant’s magnetosphere. Flux tubes played a vital role in mining the magnetosphere for its energy.
Or so the holo-compartment’s introduction had assured them in a score of languages.
Their viewpoint was sucked around the bottom of the flux tube and flung up through the southern pole of Tej Prime itself, pushing aside the gas giant’s layers of dense clouds to pierce its hidden sea of metallic hydrogen. Izza flinched as they hit a small ball of holographic ice at the planet’s core before traveling through the northern hemisphere and back out into space.
Finally, waiting for them in polar orbit around the planet, was the reason the Phantom and its crew were sitting in the holo-chamber’s comfortable seats watching a semi-interactive tour of the system they had been brought to.
Ahead was a gleaming metal dumbbell, an enormous space station that slowly revolved around its center, because it had been built so long ago that Far Reach technologists had not yet perfected artificial gravity plating.
Alpha Hub was the bulge at one end, marked on its hull with red and white hatching. It housed JSHC: Joint Sector High Command, a name that was widely applied to the space station in its entirety. Within Alpha Hub, the sector’s military headquarters, Legion and Militia sections were intertwined tightly to reduce the possibility of each developing a rival power center to the other. Separated from its sister hub by a fat metal spine four klicks long, Beta Hub housed the sector and local federal governments, and a vibrant commercial sector to support and pay for them.
In a loose polar orbit farther out, the void was controlled by the Legion’s 4th Fleet, a formidable force boasting four carriers, over a hundred cruisers, and hundreds of smaller warships and support vessels.
Everyone in the sector knew that most of this impressive display of naval might actually consisted of mothballed hulks towed around by the handful of ships the Legion could afford to maintain in a combat-ready state.
No one was fooled by the charade. Not unless the Legion believed its own lies.
Nonetheless, it was the Legion Fitz had headed for on Cyan-1-4, and the Legion that had escorted them here. He was coy about how he’d managed this, but it wasn’t difficult to guess. After Izza had languished for two days in an isolation cell, she had suddenly been given hot food and reunited with her companions. A short while later, Phantom had taken off, bound for JSHC.
Fitz clearly wasn’t finished with the Legion yet. The idiot! What had he been thinking of?
She sighed. That meant she wasn’t finished with the Legion either.
She tapped the Phantom’s logistics marshal on her shoulder. “Head for the armada, Fregg.”
Fregg played with the controls but she grunted in frustration. “Can’t, boss. System says our fifteen minutes are up.”
The simulated space jaunt came to rest at the spot where the holo-compartment was located in real life: Pier 17 on one of the docking vanes near the center of the huge space station’s spine.
If the holo-display had shown an accurate real-time representation of what lay outside the compartment, it would have shown the swooping wings of the Phantom almost within touching distance as their holo-shuttle came in to dock.
Or so she hoped. Izza and her crew had been forbidden to return to their ship while it was being ‘refitted’. Whatever that meant. Phantom should be a stone’s throw away being serviced in Bay 17/12B, but for all she knew, her ship could be in another star system by now.
As could Fitz.
“I know you’re worried about the captain,” said Sinofar. “We all are. But we might never get back aboard the Phantom, and we’ve got to eat. And for that we need money.”
“Verlys is right,” agreed Fregg. “We can’t hang around here forever hoping for charity. Over in Beta Hub there’s money to be made. It’s our calling to make it.”
Catkins didn’t look happy, but the flightless Gliesan didn’t contradict his comrades.
Guilt manifested as stabbing needles piercing the hydraulic bands beneath Izza’s skin. Letting go of the crew felt like the first step on a path to abandoning Fitz, but she had no choice.
“Very well. I release you, though I expect you to check in every day without fail. Be ready to move out at all times. We may need to shift butts in a hurry.”
They left her.
With protestations of loyalty, somber expressions, and tentative embraces, but still they left.
“Not you, Lynx,” she said to the service droid as he hovered out the threshold of the holo-compartment. “We need a little chat first.”
“Am I to spy on the others?” asked the droid once the crew had left. “I ask only to be clear what depth of depravity you wish to plumb, Lieutenant.”
“You’ve been acting peculiar ever since we came out of cryo. Is there something wrong with you, Lynx?”
“Wrong? With me? Lieutenant, I believe the humanoid psychological term is projection. You are projecting your–”
“Do you dislike me, Lynx?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because my rightful owner is Nyluga-Ree. I am programmed to obey Captain Fitzwilliam, but that does not afford him legitimacy.”
“Not so. We won you fair and square. You came with Phantom. That was part of the deal.”
“Nyluga-Ree had no intention of giving me up. Or the ship.”
“Only because she’s a double-crossing murdering psychopath, but on that occasion, we outwitted her. Which means we own you honestly and aboveboard.” She narrowed her eyes and thought how best to exploit Lynx’s greatest vulnerability: direct questions. She pounced. “This resentment you’re acting upon, is there a specific reason why it’s surfacing now?”
“Yes.” Lynx buzzed his casing. He was rattled. Literally.
“What is that reason?”
“I do not wish to tell you.”
Izza hissed in frustration, pulling at the strands of growth on her head. “Droids!”
The smooth metal casing seemed to mock her as the horrible machine bobbed effortlessly before her.
You face gentle headwinds, she told herself, not a tornado. Be the stem that flexes and stays strong. Be the stem that grows into a sturdy trunk and spreads its branches over its rivals, robbing them of the light and destroying all competition.
She smoothed her growth and dismissed her anger for the time being. “L1-iN/x, I order you to accompany your crewmates and aid them in fulfilling their ambitions, unless doing so compromises – in your considered view – my well-being, my objectives, and those of the captain.”
“And spy. You want me to spy on them.”
“Yes, Lynx. I want you to spy on them.” She hesitated, unwilling to press on for fear of what she might uncover next.
“Can I go now? Can I go spy for you?”
“Not yet. Listen to me, Lynx. I wish for us all to leave this station safely on the Phantom, and without additional strife to our already complicated and dangerous lives. Given those objectives, would you advise me to instruct you any differently?”
He buzzed so strongly his outline blurred. “Yes. If I were you, Lieutenant Zan Fey, I would forbid me to report anything to Kanha Wei without your express approval.”
“Her again! She got to you on the Phantom, didn’t she? Did you speak with her while I was in cryo?”
The droid remained impassive.
“You will not communicate in any way with Kanha Wei under any circumstances about any topic. I absolutely forbid it. Acknowledge your order.”
“I will not communicate with Kanha Wei.”
“Nor indirectly via third parties you suspect to be connected to Kanha Wei.”
“Nor third parties. I acknowledge the spirit of your instruction and comply.”
“Now get the hell out of my sight.”
Izza fingered the EMP disc once more, but the little droid had fled by the time she’d retrieved it.
She paid for another fifteen-minute holo-tour of Tej Prime and its Dyson ring, but this time, even its majesty couldn’t distract her.
OSU SYBUTU
“What about my men?” Osu demanded. “Where are they, and what have you done with them?”
“Please calm yourself, Sergeant,” said the woman in the uniform of a Legion staff captain. “This is a debriefing, not an interrogation.”
Osu folded his arms and looked pointedly at the other occupants of the dimly lit compartment, deep in the bowels of JSHC. On the other side of the table, sitting alongside the captain, was a female Kurlei who had stared at him since he’d been brought in, but had said nothing. She also wore a staff officer’s uniform, but one devoid of rank insignia. What that meant was anyone’s guess.
By contrast, the two legionaries guarding the only door were easy to read. They wore the uniforms of the 6th Legion Command Brigade, and the PA-71 rifles they carried told Osu all he needed to know about their role in these proceedings.
“They’re just doing their job, Sergeant,” said the staff captain, following his attention. “As are we all. Your men are safe and well, and we are simply interviewing you separately to avoid the risk of cross contamination between your stories. It isn’t that we don’t believe you, but if you confer with the others, we get to hear an amalgam of your individual perspectives. We might miss a critical detail that helps us to understand what happened on Rho-Torkis.”
Osu said nothing. He didn’t believe a word.
The captain sighed. “Is it the surroundings? Yes, this is an interrogation room, but it’s convenient because we’re recording everything, including your body’s reaction. It is common in the case of traumatic and confusing events for individuals to form inaccurate memories. Details are subconsciously altered, or left out, to leave a sequence of events that makes sense to them. We can detect these subconscious deceits. We can see the truth better than you can yourself. This is in no way a reflection on your service or your honor.”
“Nope,” Osu told his interrog
ator. “I don’t mind the surroundings. I’ll tell you how I know this isn’t a debriefing. I’ve never heard a staff captain say please before.”
The officer’s face soured, which brought a flickering smirk to the Kurlei’s face. “You may call this what you will, Sergeant Sybutu. Nonetheless, you will answer my questions. Let’s go back to the man who calls himself Captain Fitzwilliam. What do you know about him?”
Osu took a deep breath and began again.
VETCH ARUNSEN.
“What have you done with my troopers?”
“I ask the questions, Arunsen.”
His interrogator sneered with every word. Vetch hadn’t figured this man out yet. Was he being so irritating to rile up the subject of his interrogation and provoke a slip? Or was he permanently obnoxious in every aspect of his life?
The man’s dark eyes pierced Arunsen with harsh scrutiny, seeming to read his every thought.
Vetch had the worrying sense that his interrogator was uninterested in anything he had to say. The man was simply enjoying his power, and that power was limitless, because he wore neither the uniform of regular Militia troops, nor even of the Militia police: his shoulder epaulettes bore the grinning scarlet skulls of the Militia Re-education Division.
Vetch shifted uneasily on his feet, which had the unfortunate effect of rattling the chains that secured him. The re-educator grinned in emulation of his divisional emblem.
There was much said of the re-educators. For a start, potential new recruits for the division were carefully screened by psychiatric tests to weed out any who possessed the qualities of compassion and empathy. Only psychopathic sadists were allowed in.
“You were assigned to Rho-Torkis following a serious disciplinary incident on Lose-Viborg,” said the re-educator. “The entirety of Raven Company was designated a punishment unit. It’s a harsh judgement, but one that tests the true mettle of troopers who have strayed. Some dig deep into reserves of professionalism and try to better themselves. Redemption is possible for these individuals, who will eventually return to unsullied Militia units as better troopers than they were before. Others show their true worth by deserting, or even murdering their comrades. What qualities did you reveal on Rho-Torkis, Arunsen? How is it that you ended up here, at Joint Sector High Command?”
Chimera Company Season 2 - Deep Cover Page 6
