“The little guy is learning to live a little, is all,” Darant retorted. He grabbed a bunch of fresh feed stalks, soaked them in the whiskey and offered them to the animal. “Compliments of General Arunsen. Even the company mascot needs to enjoy the local hooch.”
Hubert took one sniff, gave a high-pitched sneeze, and then tucked in.
“That’s my boy,” Darant cooed.
“You ignorant fool!” yelled Shepherd, leaping up and snatching away Hubert’s treat. Trying to, at any rate. The basten goat laid his floppy ears flat along his head and gave the nasty human a warning growl while clamping the booze-soaked food between his teeth.
Shepherd gave up and pointed a finger at Darant instead. “You need educating about animal cruelty.”
“Who, sir?” Darant replied innocently. “Me, sir?”
“Yes, you. You little shit. Animals have rights. They are not toys and playthings.”
“We’re just borrowing them as cover,” Darant replied, his voice calm, but his eyes shooting anger at the rebel. “Their fate is down to the farmhouse. Tomorrow, Hubert here might find himself inside a pie, so he may as well enjoy today to the full.” He gave Shepherd a glare laced with the threat of violence. “I can relate to that.”
“Excuse me, Shepherd.” Enthree waved a forelimb in front of her, the Muryani gesture for dispelling tension. “Am I reading this correctly? You value the animal more than the humans?”
“Of course I do. That goat is an innocent creature native to this sector. He’s worth more than all of you.” He glared before adding in a small voice. “More than all of us.”
Suddenly, the recruiter seemed unsure of himself, glancing nervously at Vetch.
The big Viking, though, merely glowered silently behind his beard. Confidence – arrogance – whatever it was called, it wrapped snugly back around Shepherd like a thick, protective coat. He took a few steps back so he could address the space like an orator, but banged his head on the low ceiling of the dugout, shaking loose a sprinkle of dirt from the tree roots that bound the earth together.
Shepherd sat down instead. “Farmhouse Control tells me you’re Militia deserters.”
“Is that really what you call the girl?” said Vetch. “Farmhouse?”
“It is her code name, yes. I don’t know her real one.”
It seemed to Darant that the other humans shrunk back into the shadows of the gloomy hideout, a half-concealed pause in which to consider their next move. He ignored them, scratching behind Hubert’s ears and whispering, “Stick with Yat, mate. I’ll make sure you don’t wind up in a pie.”
“You’re right that we were Militia once,” Lily told Shepherd. “And now we’re looking for a new home. Might as well be your outfit. Whatever we do now, if we were ever captured, they would torture us and string us up to encourage the others to toe the line. Fighting for the rebels wouldn’t make our deaths any worse.”
“Quite so.” Shepherd gave Lily the half smile that meant he thought she’d said something stupid. The man used that smile a lot. “However,” he pointed out, “I suspect your end would not be so quick as with a hanging. It would be prolonged. The full Eiylah-Bremah treatment. They would make you see the error of your ways, and they would make you betray everyone you loved. You would choke on guilt so intense that you would beg for execution, not just for the release from your torment, but because you truly believed that was what you deserved.”
Vetch rubbed at his beard and grunted an affirmative. “That’s what… that girl said. We rescued someone guilty of speech crimes. She said they would make her beg for execution or slavery in the end, but I didn’t buy it. No one’s gonna make me beg for the noose.”
“And yet, like so many others who also believed they were impervious to the demands of the re-educators, you would crack in the end. Her case is a little different. You refer to Carnolin Idoh, yes? She fell victim to the Churn. This, my friends, is a planet of confabulists, and the cynical dictator In’Nalla, exploits this to her own ends. The Churn was already in place before her rise to power, but she has made it her greatest weapon. Even if tomorrow she were to disappear forever, Eiylah-Bremah society is so dysfunctional, it would take generations to calm down their evil nonsense.”
Darant slid his gaze along his friends, wanting one of them to explain what the hell a confabulist was, or ask the smug skragg in the red and white neckerchief. None of them looked eager to be the one.
No matter. I’ll ask Enthree later.
Lily said, “We saw only a jail cell with a viewing window for the public to mock the convicted inmate. There has to be more than that. So what is it? Drugs? Torture?”
“Yes, all of those, plus plenty of patience. The process takes years in many cases. Yet they nearly always succeed, and the public knows they will eventually see the transgressor recant. It is not enough to merely humiliate a criminal and make them confess to a crime they did not commit. On Eiylah-Bremah they don’t stop until they have convinced you of your own guilt. Those confessions are always genuine, even though the alleged crime is often an enormous distortion of the truth. Federal and planetary authorities across the Federation bring their high-profile prisoners to Eiylah-Bremah to be broken until they beg to publicly confess. Being able to make prisoners believe that two plus two equals five is a major part of the planetary economy.”
“I thought that was mining.”
“Ahhh…” Shepherd gave Lily a condescending smile as reward for her naïve comment. “The outer asteroid belt is indeed rich in rare minerals and degenerate condensates. It is the great natural bounty of this star system, and its wealth should be fairly distributed among all deserving citizens. Instead, the tyrant, In’Nalla, has leased the mining rights to her federal senate backers in return for Militia military support. The asteroids that should make this world rich, instead pay for the Militia jackboots that press down upon the throats of the people so that In’Nalla can force her political ideology upon them.”
“Man!” Darant shook his head angrily. “That shits.”
“Yes, that, as you say, shits.”
“Tell me again about those jackboots, Shepherd. They sound neat, but I don’t remember being issued any footwear in my career as a trooper. Damned thieving commissary goblins.”
“The system is corrupt,” declared Shepherd, rising above Darant’s quip. “That is why the Pan-Human Progressive Alliance is here to change things to a better way. Eiylah-Bremah is the galaxy in microcosm. Across the Federation there are disgraces such as the theft of natural wealth, and monsters such as In’Nalla. The rebellion will redistribute wealth to those who are deserving. Power will be seized from the corrupt elite and their cronies, and reserved for those whose values are worthwhile.”
“We get it,” said Vetch. “Enough of the speeches already. How do we join?”
“Not so fast, my friend.” Shepherd tutted. “You have all parted ways with the Militia, I accept that, but that makes you desperate, it doesn’t make you one of us. I shall interview each of you in turn and in isolation. Starting with…” he swung out his finger. “Starting with you, Darant.”
LILY HJON
Enthree was Shepherd’s last interview and by far his longest.
Lily had figured that was the way it would play. She’d scattered a few clues that she was ill-educated scum, and grinned when he had cast horrified glances at her tattooed face. His prejudice had done the rest.
After all, Militia troopers were all murderers and thieves. And Lily’s party were deserters from the Militia, which made them an altogether lower form of underclass.
Luckily Darant and Vetch had picked up on her lead to play dumb. Literally in Vetch’s case who had clammed up completely.
Shepherd had quickly dismissed the humans as worthless plasma fodder. His interview with Lily had been a halfhearted series of probes, checking for problematic beliefs, but a Muryani was another matter altogether, and Enthree loved to debate humanoid political philosophy.
While Shepherd was
quizzing Enthree – and probably the other way around, knowing her favorite bug – Vetch and Darant pressed Lily to explain what she was playing at.
“I recognize his sort,” she explained.
“He’s a skragging rebel,” Darant pointed out helpfully. “He’s the sort we killed until we came to this damned planet. Now we don’t have a home, so we change sides. We’ve been through this, Lily. Why are you being unreliable?”
“It’s still a smart move. But it would never work with the likes of Shepherd. I hoped it might, but we’d never fit in with his lot and that would get us killed before we got off-world. I used to know people like him. In his head, he’s a hero in his own story of liberation and justice. The truth is that he wants to replace a corrupt elite with a new one based on moral and political purity.”
“And based on knowing the right people.”
“Precisely. And if they win, they’ll split into factions based on ideological differences and fight each other. It’s how Cora’s World started out. The original Cora thought she was establishing a bastion of ideological decency. Her political descendants are a human-supremacist death cult who have long since disowned their world’s founder as a xeno-apologist.”
“So he’s an arrogant pile of drent,” said Vetch. “I’ve wanted to tickle him with Lucerne since the moment I clapped eyes on him. I brought him in anyway, because we need him. No one’s signing up to the cause here. We’re just exploiting the local situation to get ourselves transport off-system. If not him and his damned Panhandlers, how do you propose we do that, Lil’?”
Yes, how? Lily’s idea was a gamble based on guesswork. They hadn’t been given Militia intel on anything, just tasked with jobs day by day. But Lily had asked, listened, and read between the lines. The official line was that the rebellion on this world was part of the Panhandler insurrection flaring up across the Federation, but too much of what Lily had overheard hadn’t added up.
“Shepherd’s not a fighter,” she explained. “He’s an intellectual starring in his own heroic adventure. The Panhandlers have expanded so fast that they can only be doing so by allying with local malcontents. Maybe recruiting mercs too. He’ll be part of a hardcore cadre in place to ensure the locals don’t stray from the right politics. Our best bet is to make him despise us so much, he doesn’t want us in with the Panhandlers, but will redirect us to allied groups instead. Darant figured it out. Yat, you did brilliantly in feeding that goat whiskey.”
“I did? I just wanted to see what Hubert would do.”
Lily shushed him, because Shepherd had emerged topside to gather them like a schoolteacher herding errant children.
——
“I’ll come straight to the point,” Shepherd announced once they were back underground. “The role of the PHPA in regions like this – ones still under government control – is to prepare the way for the forces to come. We need leaders. Articulate advocates who can communicate the robust political arguments that underpin our cause. I regret to say that we cannot use you in such a capacity.”
Lily felt her heart pounding. Steady…
“However…”
Jackpot! Lily looked down at the dirt floor to hide the grin on her face.
“We do have a role for you. The rebellion has armed and organized local civilian groups. Our political advisers are embedded within, but the organizations are largely able to run themselves for simple everyday tasks.”
I bet they’re capable of more than that, you arrogant bastard.
“I’m sorry to disappoint you. Not everyone can be a leader and we must all make our contribution, each according to our abilities.” Shepherd gave his condescending laugh. “For gasbags like me to wander the planet claiming to be intellectual badasses to those who will listen, we need many more brave individuals to do the actual hard work of revolution.”
Darant scowled. “Plasma fodder. That’s what you want us to be.”
“Careful, Yat Darant. You use an objectionable term. Foot soldier is preferable.”
“And Farmhouse Control,” said Vetch. “Is she a foot soldier, or is she a leader like you?”
“That is not for the likes of you to know. Our local affiliate organization calls itself the Revolutionary Forces of Reconciliation, and their forward base is in Zone-41, two hundred klicks east of here. It’s quite a trek through government-controlled territory, but with your Militia background, one I’m confident you can make. Within a year or two, you’ll be back here as part of a military unit with a gun in your hands and the glory of victory in your blood. Pass me your wrist slates and I’ll key in the co-ordinates. Tell them Shepherd sent you and all will be okay.”
“Shepherd,” muttered Darant. “Guess that makes us sheep. Sheep that you’re leading to–”
“To a purposeful destiny,” the Panhandler insisted. “As I explained, we all have our contributions to make to the cause–”
“And ours is to fall under the enemy’s guns as… foot soldiers.”
“Perhaps. It’s a matter of perspective, Darant. Everything in life is a matter of perspective, because our minds see the universe as stories. In’Nalla is a narcissist, and a brutal authoritarian, but she’s right that we’re all confabulists in the end. So stop using objectionable terms like plasma fodder, and tell yourself a story in which you star as the heroic rebel soldier. The Zhoogenes are no different. Stories are the machine language of their brains too. Even you, my Muryani friend, are the same. Am I right?”
“You are correct,” Enthree agreed.
Lily could see Darant mouthing: ‘What the fuck?’.
Shepherd could too. He took in the sea of blank human faces – and one inscrutable intelligent giant ant – and shrugged. “Who am I kidding?” he said. “There’s three and a half bottles of whiskey-scotch needs finishing off. Ten credits say we can’t finish it by midnight.”
For the first time, a fulsome cheer filled the hollow under the hill.
VETCH ARUNSEN
“Don’t curse me too hard or it will become a habit,” Shepherd advised as he bid them farewell. He smiled, but it was a forced gesture from a man whose head was obviously pounding from Eiylah-Bremah whiskey.
“Tell me again why that’s a problem,” said Darant with the cheery smile and booming voice of a man who knows he’s the only one in the room with the constitution of a hazardous waste reprocessing plant.
“Because I feel sure we will meet again.” Shepherd looked about to elaborate but thought better of speaking. Or making any kind of sound.
Darant slapped the rebel heartily on the back. “Cheery-bye,” he said. Loudly.
Shepherd groaned and walked away.
Sitting beneath the cover of the trees, they watched him go in silence, those with aching heads enjoying the cooling breeze rolling up the hill from the fields below.
“In case there’s any doubt on the matter,” said Vetch once Shepherd had disappeared from sight, “this unit ain’t a democracy. I’m in charge.” He paused in case any wished to dissent, but it didn’t suit any of them to disagree, not even Darant. “However, if anyone thinks we shouldn’t go find these Revolutionary Forces of Reconciliation, speak now.”
“Good,” said Enthree after several seconds of silence. She shivered, building up the strength to speak.
Vetch felt a pang of sympathy. His head was sore, but her kind were not good drinkers. Enthree’s hangover would punish her for days.
“We face a difficult journey with an uncertain ending,” said the alien. “That’s perfect because for humans, stasis is psychologically damaging. You need change, or rather you need action with the credible belief that it could lead to change.”
“You’re right,” said Lily. “We’re going crazy here. We all of us need to move on, though each in our different ways. Take Vetch, for a start. He needs a purpose, to convince himself that he hasn’t sold our souls in return for saving a Zhoogene girl we didn’t know, and we’ll never see again. He needs a haircut too.”
“What about m
e?” asked Darant. “Why should I head out to join these revolutionaries?”
“Because you need an outlet for your violent tendencies.”
Darant shrugged, satisfied with his answer.
Lily stroked a hand down Enthree’s hairy shoulder. “And as for you, my Muryani friend, your greatest desire is to be embedded among the adventures of humanoids.”
“I concur,” said Enthree. “What about you, Lily? What is it you seek?”
“Decent beer, late nights and later mornings. I deserve a supply of hot running men, the badder the better.”
Enthree tilted her head in denial. “Lily Hjon, that is not correct. What you describe is only a distraction from what you truly seek.”
“Can’t pull the wool over your antennae, can I, sister? It might be a distraction, but it would sure as hell be fun.” Her face soured and she closed her eyes, the lids slotting into the tattoos of magic firebolts or whatever the hell was supposed to be exploding out of her sockets. Sometimes, Lily looked less human than Enthree.
“I can’t tell you what I’m looking for,” she said in a shaky little voice. “But I know I haven’t found it yet.”
Hell, Lil’! Vetch finally realized that the spikey tattoo lines on her face were a subconscious defense. Cover.
Lily was not in a good place.
“That’s enough!” Vetch raised his voice as far as his throbbing head would allow and was relieved to see that Lily picked herself up from her introspection. “I looked up the term confabulist. Sounded like a mental disorder. Enthree, did you understand what that buffoon was talking about?”
“Oh, yes. Shepherd was a fascinating man. I believe I understood him far better than he understood himself.”
“Then you can explain tonight. Darant, you’re on watch. The rest of you, get some sleep. You’ll need it. We head out at sunset.”
REVERED LEADER IN’NALLA
The unmarked car pulled out from the dusty hedge-lined road and onto a rough farm track. Asher’s words were jolted out of her as the vehicle bucked violently, and the rear seat slapped the backsides of the Revered Leader of Eiylah-Bremah and her private secretary, butts accustomed to being cosseted in official limos cruising along the priority lanes of proper roads.
Chimera Company Season 2 - Deep Cover Page 24
