by K S Augustin
But he couldn’t deny the obvious. It was true the Colonel made people like him and Koul look good. He already had several commendations that he would have never received under another’s command. And on his recreational trips down to the Five, there was always a commander or two who made half-joking suggestions to him about a possible transfer with prospects of promotion.
The Colonel herself encouraged study, urging him to take the sub-Colonel’s exam within the next two years. He was young for such advancement, he knew that, but the backing of the now legendary Senior Colonel Sie was no trivial thing. He had even started harbouring ambitions to be the youngest sub-General in the empire. All such thoughts were thanks to his present commanding officer. Her command, her head for tactics, her intuition for logistics, washed over the entire territory, tinting everybody with success. Had Koul realised this too and managed to repress part of his fierce ambition in order to ride on the Colonel’s reputation? Was it so difficult a thing to believe when he was doing the same thing himself?
“Vanqill got in touch with me this morning,” he said quietly, the anger slowly draining from him. “One of his comms technicians was found last night on the outskirts of Sab-Baqdil, with her throat cut.”
“Eliminate the village,” Koul answered without missing a beat. “The only reason a Perlim officer approaches a village alone is if she’s taking bribes from a rebel sympathiser stationed there. This sounds like a classic damage-control strategy by the local guerilla force.”
Rumis took a breath. Yes, it sounded plausible. Why else would a communications officer be so far away from safety? And on her own?
No.
Colonel Sie had always told him to trust his intuition and right now, it was yelling in his ear. The explanation Koul gave of bribes and money changing hands in Sab-Baqdil sounded rational, but something about it was too convenient.
What if, despite Koul’s protestations of innocence, he somehow was mixed up in the disappearance of the Colonel? What if he then wanted to get rid of the evidence, meaning the only other person who knew of a fraudulent message sent from Vanqill’s sector?
Rumis wavered. Both lines of reasoning made sense. Koul had clear motive to get rid of Colonel Sie. But the story of infiltrators and collaborators in Sab-Baqdil was also feasible. Unless he himself took command of the entire Nineteen and diverted resources to ferreting out any speck of evidence, there was no way he was going to get closer to what had really transpired. And how could he do that with Koul and a whole cadre of sector commanders outranking him?
“The patrols we sent out found the Colonel’s vehicle,” Rumis said.
“And?”
“There was hope that they were trapped under the canopy.” Although they probably would have roasted in such an oven. Rumis wasn’t sure whether he was disappointed or relieved when the squad leader told him the vehicle was empty.
“We found their tracks,” he continued, after a long pause. “But they disappeared a few hundred metres from the skimmer. If they headed for the nearest hill, there’s no evidence they made it there.” He wondered if his expression mirrored the bleakness he felt.
“I understand your loyalty to the Colonel, Major Swonnessy,” Koul said gently into the silence. “In your position, I’m sure I’d feel the same way. Perhaps we both need to take a step back. Regain some equilibrium. Forget what happened just now in the Tactics Room and start over.”
What was the alternative? A mutiny? For an officer like Rumis, that was tantamount to slitting his own veins. And with most of the Nineteen’s commanders either friends or acquaintances of Koul’s, success was slim. Besides, the Colonel had been gone barely two days. There was still a little time left to wait. To hope.
Rumis stared at Koul for a long moment. Then, lowering his head, he nodded.
“This is a bit earlier than I was expecting. Is something the matter?”
“You could say that.” She hesitated before leaning back in the chair, and did so gingerly. “I’ve been captured.”
“By the rebels?”
“None other than Drel himself, the continent’s rebel leader apparently.”
Copan’s eyes narrowed. “The new rebel leader? How did you get caught?”
“Now there’s the question.” Laisen rubbed her back against the chair. “My skimmer was hit by a tipper while heading for a rendezvous. We were captured not far from the wreck. It all seemed a little too well practised to be an accident but I’m still thinking that one through.”
“What have they done to you? Are you hurt?”
“Drel turned me over to a couple of guards who lost family at Sab-Solin,” she said with a tight smile. “They’ve been…less than gentle.”
“Tell him you’re Fusion.” There was no hesitation in Copan’s voice.
“Is that you or my subconscious talking, Doctor?”
“It’s the voice of pragmatism, Laisen. If you tell them you’re Fusion, they’ll release you. They’ll not want to antagonise us.”
“I don’t think I can do that.”
“Why not? It will only be a minor setback.” He shrugged. “We’ve aborted other missions before on lesser justification.”
“But this one has a lot more at stake.”
Copan looked annoyed. “Your psych profile indicated a latent capacity for martyrdom. Is that what you’re manifesting now?”
She laughed. “Nothing so noble. I’m thinking of the mission.”
“I told you–”
“Hear me out. Please.” She paused and only continued when he lapsed into a grudging silence. “If I admit to Drel that I’m Fusion, what does that mean for the future of this decime? The Fusion is banking on Menon prevailing as the first step towards the destruction of the Perlim Empire. Even the border planet of Laeyek Omni B is too tough an obstacle for us, with a military shipyard and two permanent garrisons stationed so close to it. We have every possible factor in our favour at Menon.”
She ticked off each point on her hand. “The Menon have always been a thorn in the Perlim side and they’re an adept fighting force. The planet’s ionic storms have helped eliminate Perlim air and space advantage. The lack of Perlim expertise in ground-fighting is working against them. We can’t give up now.”
“I admit that there are unique factors at play–”
“If the Fusion admits that it’s had a representative on Menon all this time,” she cut in, “what are the rebels going to think? What more will they think if they find out that it was, in fact, the Fusion representative who was responsible for the slaughter of their civilians?”
Copan remained silent.
“Doctor, if I own up to being a member of the Fusion, then I will also have to own up to massacring Menon women and children. Under such circumstances, the rebels might quite legitimately decide that they’re better off with the drain-sahmpren they know.”
“And sue for peace with the Perlim.” He looked like he’d just swallowed something very bitter.
“Yes.” She was glad he was finally beginning to see her position. “And if that happens, the Fusion may never get the opportunity to manipulate another Perlim planet. Underground news travels fast. Such a loss here could mean we forfeit our best chance of bringing down the Empire.”
Her liaison shook his head after a long pause. “I’m most uncomfortable with this. My oath was to heal people, not approve rationalisations for suicide.”
“It’s the only strategy that makes sense,” she insisted.
Copan remained unconvinced. She could see it in the droop of his shoulders and the dour expression on his face.
“Have they offered you any inducements?” he finally asked.
“Yes. They say they’ll release me if I share our troop movements, inventory levels and general strategies with them.” For the moment, she wanted to keep Lith out of the equation completely.
“Which you could do. In fact, wouldn’t that help us by giving the rebels a wealth of information they wouldn’t have normally had?”
/> Laisen shook her head. “I could tell them that water is for drinking and they wouldn’t believe me. The only person more mistrusted than an enemy is a turncoat and Drel isn’t the trusting type. Without the ability to verify everything I say, they’d end up discarding most of what I tell them. I am, after all,” she said with a twisted smile, “the Butcher.”
“What is the extent of your injuries?”
“I have severe bruising on my back.” She flexed her back and sighed. “As well as on my face and body. A couple of broken teeth and fingers. Perhaps some cracked ribs.” She smiled faintly. “I’ve had worse.”
But he refused to be drawn by her attempt at levity.
“According to your reasoning then, if you live, you feel you can continue your mission. And if you die, everything remains as it was.”
She nodded. “A fair summation. Of course, if the rebels decide to carry out a proper autopsy on my body, they might find some puzzling irregularities. But I’m not expecting them to produce any surgeons after they kill me. The medical facilities on this planet are rather basic.”
“What would you say are your chances of escape?”
“At the moment? Maybe twenty percent.”
“And what are you expecting to happen next?”
“I have one, perhaps two, days before Drel will be forced to kill me. That’s my window of opportunity.”
“I don’t know why you wanted to talk to me,” Copan complained. “You seem to have figured everything out already.”
She grinned. “I’ve always valued our talks, Doctor. I just wanted to make sure, in case we don’t meet again, that I told you that.”
Laisen had faced death before, but not since Eys.
The rebels had thrown her into a bare room after the beating without even a thin mattress or torn blanket to cushion her fall. They hadn’t risked untying her hands, which were now secured in front of her. It was as if a hungry, exhausted, suffering Cheloi Sie could still pose a threat to them. In a way, the thought was flattering.
Laisen lay on her side, skirting the edges of consciousness, the darkened surrounds flashing in and out of focus through mists of black and red. Her breaths lifted small particles of dust that tickled at her nose. She didn’t care.
She thought of Eys. That she had to be almost at death’s door to finally relive those moments was telling. Those memories were held in such a deep, dark part of her that she didn’t think even the wetware connections of the virtual Dr. Copan could tease them out.
Not till now. Not until she faced the fact that she might not see it through to the end of this particular puzzle and had to make peace with the remembrance of a woman who had meant more to her than life. The first woman who had meant more to her than life.
Eys Ttulon.
Eys was already an experienced veteran of the Fusion’s covert arm when Laisen joined. She was exactly the opposite of what Laisen was expecting. Instead of a serious, cautious, introspective personality, Eys was the life of every occasion, the sparkle at the party, the laughter at the celebration. She was vibrant, with black flashing eyes, long straight dark hair and skin the colour of luscious burnt caramel.
Laisen didn’t have much to do with her during her initial training but they met, by accident, after her fifteenth mission and were inseparable soon after that.
Both had known that their liaison was a bad idea. The life of a Fusion covert agent was unpredictable at best. But in the end, neither could resist the compulsion that pulled them together
As she lay on the sandy floor in her subterranean cell, Laisen remembered a very different place. Different places.
The yellow sun that warmed their skin on the holiday world of Ozca Secundus III. Frolicking in the freshwater oceans by day. Travelling to a different continent as whim took them. Firing their insatiable desire for each other by night.
The gas-giant gliding they did on Ruar Six. Armoured against the crushing gravity. Their visors tuned to a different electromagnetic setting so they could see the full wonder of the multi-hued clouds through which they plunged.
They bought a place on the Floks Nine Semi-Dyson so that, as Eys had playfully teased, she could be near Laisen’s parents and their wonderfully eccentric senses of humour. Eys was the flourish at the end of every mission, the festive glass that increased the joy of each success and mitigated the failures. Laisen adored her with every speck of her being.
Her parents loved Eys too. Hell, everybody loved Eys. People panted and trailed after her like puppies, hoping for a mote of attention. Men and women, it made no difference. But she was Laisen’s. Only Laisen’s. And the younger woman could not believe the sense of pride that filled her every time she and Eys appeared anywhere.
She called Eys her “dark star”. In a moment of poetry even she couldn’t believe, she told Eys she was like that exotic interstellar body, her pull inexorable even when she seemed not to be there. And it was true. Even when they were apart, as circumstances and work often dictated, Laisen thought she could feel her as an almost-tangible presence, guiding her and providing silent advice in difficult situations.
The tragedy of it was that, despite her romantic fancies, there wasn’t a single trace of premonition before Eys’ mission to the 2 Feldaen Cluster. Laisen remembered their last night together as if it were yesterday, both of them still awake as their sector dome lightened to simulate sunrise on the Floks semi-dyson.
Eys ran a finger up Laisen’s naked thigh which quivered in response.
“If you keep doing that,” Laisen warned, her eyes still closed, “you won’t be able to make your flight.”
Eys chuckled, a warm bright sound. “And wouldn’t you like that?”
Laisen opened her eyes and jackknifed into a sitting position. “Actually, I would,” she said suddenly.
The older woman reached up to nuzzle her ear, licking the sensitive patch of flesh just behind the jawline. “Mmmm. And what would we do with ourselves then, my darling? Join a university? Start a business? Move into politics?”
“Any or all of the above.” The tickle at her ear made it difficult to concentrate. “Between us, we have enough social credits saved up to do nothing but relax for a few years.” She turned and kissed Eys full on the lips. “What do you think? Let’s resign. Let’s sleep as much as we want to, wake up when we want to, go wherever we wish. Doesn’t that sound more attractive than another mission with some opaque objective at its end?”
Eys, her dark star, forced her back on the bed. Flesh against flesh. “But wouldn’t you miss the excitement?”
Laisen tried to avoid her lover’s lips but failed. She kissed her quickly. “Y-es,” she slowly conceded, spinning out the word. “Maybe.”
“Besides, you’re still fairly new. The job only gets better from here.” Eys kissed each of Laisen’s nipples, gentle affectionate pecks. “I have a counter-proposal if you’re interested.”
Laisen groaned.
“Let’s give it another five years.” She kissed her neck. “Save up some more.” Her nose. “Enjoy ourselves.” Both eyes. “Then we’ll call it quits forever. Okay?”
In the sunlit chaos of their bedroom, it sounded innocuous and reasonable enough. Laisen nodded and, with the bedsheets still tangled around her naked form, watched her lover get out of bed and begin packing.
Eys left with a wave, a flying kiss and a quick grin.
There was no reason for Eys Ttulon to be anything other than supremely confident about 2 Feldaen. It was a simple snatch-and-grab task, one of the easiest classes of mission there was. Only the Fusion hadn’t bargained on a renegade Jesse mercenary team crashing in and killing every person in sight, regardless of sides. Laisen, with another three more weeks until redeployment, was still on Floks Nine when she got the news.
Devastated didn’t cover how she felt. The frosted walls of the meeting room at the local Fusion administration office, the sympathetic officer, the sparse yet stylish furniture that Laisen had been admiring only scant minutes before, all
of it disappeared into a pit of blackness that yawned wide before her eyes.
Not Eys. Not dead. The woman contained enough life for several ordinary mortals. Besides, they had plans. They were going to go rock-hopping across the Olmara Belt. Take part in a scavenger hunt in that barren eerie place called The Zone. Make a long overdue trip to the embassy hub world of Anvil to visit one of Laisen’s brothers.
Dead.
Laisen remembered whispering the word in that terrible and cheerful room. And what came after made it seem so much worse. Eys’ testament. Who would have thought that such a vibrant woman would have given death a single thought, much less think to keep her wishes updated? Everything went to Laisen—her credits, her half-share of their Floks habitat, even a small beat-up scout ship that she had laughingly bought on a whim and planned to renovate.
Laisen didn’t want to keep anything, even though it made her one of the most asset-rich individuals she knew. It all felt tainted and corrupt, as if she had swapped her lover’s life for a pile of material possessions, a kind of infernal pay-off. But as the objects were now her only link with Eys, she also couldn’t bear to give any of it away.
In the end, she locked everything up, left a rough inventory with her parents, and ran as far away from the semi-dyson as fast as she could. She had never gone back.
Now, a decade later, here she was, dying for the Fusion. Her only crumb of comfort was that Eys’ death must have been relatively quick. Mercenaries were usually on a clock.
She shifted on the cold floor. Mercenaries were the opposite of ideologues. Rebels like Drel, unless under direct attack, liked to spin out the moment. They liked messy, prolonged deaths that suited their sense of justice.
With a sigh, Cheloi dropped her head, trying to relax the pain-induced tension in her body. Was there anything different she’d do in her life, knowing she would finally reach this moment in time? No, not really.
Lith. Where was she? Was she being tortured as well? It angered Laisen that she could do nothing, broken and bleeding as she was. Now in the present, she had so much more to regret than what lay in the past.
