“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 me?” 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 dist
raction, 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.
In’Nalla resisted the urge to glare at the driver. Or put a bullet through her brain. Such things looked petty, and appearances were all in politics, especially in a period of transition such as this.
Within a few seconds the driver had mastered the difficult terrain, the gravitics howling as the motors pushed the heavily armored vehicle high above the dirt bumps.
“You’ll have to speak louder, Blayde.”
Blayde Asher winced at the irritation in her mistress’s voice and started again. “It’s Secretary Gordon, ma’am. He’s agitating for a gun control bill.”
“Gordon’s always whining about what he likes to call the uncontrolled proliferation of firearms.”
“Indeed, ma’am, but he’s winning support in the Senate. He’ll find a stooge to table the bill for him.”
“Who, Blayde? Who is supporting this… this defiance of my will? And at a time like this?”
“That’s difficult to say. You understand that senators are unwilling to speak openly unless they feel they have safety in numbers. Nonetheless, it is possible to read the runes, ma’am. I believe the talk of a Gordon-sponsored gun control bill is highly plausible.”
The car sank into a grassy knoll above a rippling field of rye. Her bodyguard, Halm, got out the car to meet the Militia and police officers coming to meet them, which gave her a few moments to mull over the threat from Gordon. And the woman who had discerned it.
Asher was a reedy woman with pebble-lens spectacles who always wore a shabby hat that seemed two sizes too big for her head. She was easily dismissed by those who didn’t know her as an inconsequential lackey, yet she was an astute political observer, and In’Nalla’s spies had reported that Asher had perfect vision.
Blayde Asher was an act. But she was her act.
“Let Gordon make his move if he dares,” In’Nalla said with a sigh. “He will argue that in these times of insurrection we must not allow our enemies to arm themselves freely. And I will argue that it is precisely because the times are dangerous that our citizens must be armed so they may defend themselves and our society.”
Halm was walking back across the grass to the car. He looked satisfied that the area was secure.
“Gordon’s a fool,” she spat. “He’ll never understand that in the current situation, weapon control laws are a sideshow. What really matters is how the citizens choose to use the weapons already out there. And for that we need to control not just the way they speak, but the way they think.”
And Plan 19 will deliver exactly that, she thought, though she kept the dangerous words to herself. Committing mass atrocities against your own loyal citizens was a regrettable necessity, but one the Court of Public Opinion was not ready to support.
The door opened and Halm stuck his massive and rather handsome head through. “Area’s secure, ma’am. It’s safe to leave the vehicle.”
——
The hellhole the fugitives had used stank of human sweat, animal stink, and of all things, cheap whiskey. A pair of basten goats were in here with them. She shuddered – the disgusting creatures had probably used the space to copulate.
But for once, she was glad of her small stature because the others kept scraping their hats along the dirt roof held together by tree roots.
She glared at the local police commander, a Sub-Commander Rea Konestogga, and enjoyed watching the Zhoogene go rigid with fear.
Serves you right. If it wasn’t for you, Sub-Commander, I wouldn’t be here in this shithole.
When In’Nalla had been led to the hideout, a Zhoogene farmgirl had been hanging around the police commander, trying to conceal the lust burning like golden fire in her eyes. It was obvious she was the informant, and it was equally obvious what – or rather who – had made her sell out her cause.
It wasn’t illegal for Zhoogenes to refuse hormone suppressants – though only because the federal courts would declare any such law unconstitutional – but it was a disgustingly aberrant behavior. How could anyone let their own bodies rule them? The farmgirl deserved all that was coming her way.
In’Nalla licked her lips and was preparing to unleash her anger on Rea Konestogga when a soft bleating interrupted her.
She looked down in surprise to see one of the goats nudge her with its furry forehead. The creature looked up at her hopefully, blinking enormous eyes.
“Oh, you poor dear. Do you expect a treat?”
In response, the wretched animal rubbed against her shin.
In’Nalla gave it a solid kick that rewarded her with a snap of bone and hurled the goat against the wall.
The other goat looked in horror at its stunned companion.
Then it snarled at this aggressive human, ears back and fangs extended.
But In’Nalla had already drawn her Z’lox Needler pistol and chambered a flesh round. She put two shells through the goat that had dared to snarl at her, and another one blew the skull of its friend into red paste.
The confined space concentrated the clap of the gunshots and made her ears ring, but In’Nalla decided the effect on Sub-Commander Rea Konestogga was most pleasing. If the police commander went any more rigid, she’d snap.
“Why was this place not discovered earlier?” she demanded.
“Ma’am,” began Major Lyssin, the Militia commander, “I’m gratified that you’ve taken an unexpected interest in our operations, but this is a routine–”
“Shut up, Lyssin. I’m asking you, Sub-Commander Rea Konestogga.”
“Ma’am, intelligence sources are by nature unpredictable. It’s regrettable the information was not forthcoming earlier.”
“You should have exploited your source more ruthlessly, Rea Konestogga. What was the problem? Did you fall in love with the girl you seduced?”
“Of course not, ma’am.”
“I’m very glad to hear it. But she’s hot for you, isn’t she? Go get your reward. Now.”
“Revered Leader, forgive me. I’m not sure I understand.”
“Don’t waste my time with coyness. Grab that farmgirl. Go into that farmhouse. Lock the door behind you, and do whatever it is your bodies tell you to do with each other. Don’t come out until you’re both fully satisfied. That’s an order.”
If the sub-commander wasn’t wearing a beret, In’Nalla didn’t doubt that her headgrowth would be waving like that rye outside in a hurricane. “Yes, Revered Leader.”
Rea Konestogga saluted and left the burrow.
“If her informant had spoken earlier, you, Major Lyssin, would have caught your deserters, and I would
n’t be wasting my valuable time on this trip to a stinking pit. Asher, arrange for Rea Konestogga’s immediate reassignment to the Northern Fringe. Let’s see if she has more success seducing the polar wolves. As for the girl, she’s a dangerous rebel. Arrest her the moment the sub-commander has gone and throw her into A-10.”
Finally, she turned her attention to the reason for her visit. Major Lyssin, the human commander of the city garrison with whom she had a special arrangement – one that clearly needed realignment – and Lieutenant Ren Kay, a Zhoogene subordinate who was clearly in the major’s confidence.
“Leave us,” she told Asher, without breaking her observation of the Militia officers. “Tell Halm to make sure no one enters the burrow, and then wait for me in the car.”
Major Lyssin got straight down to business. “Why are you here, Revered Leader?”
“Why are you here, Major? The esteemed capital zone commander getting his hands dirty chasing a handful of Militia deserters… No, sir, it does not fit. What’s special about them?”
Lyssin gave her a thoughtful look. It was refreshing to engage with someone who didn’t fear her.
“These are individuals of concern to Joint Sector High Command.”
“Why?”
“Ma’am, I do not know, and I did not ask. Even if I did know, I would not feel obliged to inform you. That’s not part of our deal.”
“Our deal? Hah!” She brought a boot down hard on a basten carcass, crunching bones and tendons. “Our deal appears to be as broken as this animal. Instead of implementing my wishes, you chase deserters who are of no consequence to me. May I remind you that I allow the Militia to exploit the considerable wealth of the belt mines on the understanding that in return, you supply the brute force I need to push my people into the bright future they deserve.”
She nodded at the junior officer. “Him? Is he dependable?”
“You may speak freely in front of Lieutenant Ren Kay, ma’am.”
“Good. Perhaps he can explain why you’re dragging your heels over Plan 19.”
“Because there’s a limit to what the Militia is prepared to do. Let the rebels have the jungles and mountains to the east. You’re safe here in Kaylingen. For your benefit, Ren Kay, the Revered Leader wishes to discredit the rebellion by committing war crimes in their name.”
Chimera Company - Deep Cover 6 Page 3
