“What?” Matthias replied.
“The egghead who first talked to these little shits twenty-five years ago said if we wanted this planet, we would need to nuke the whole world.”
“Really?”
“Yep. He knew they were just too ornery to pacify. You know what happened to him?”
“No. What?”
“The lopers crucified him.” Po slapped Matthias on the shoulder. “We’ve got to get back to the outpost. New orders.”
“New orders? No rest for the wicked.”
“You’ll get plenty of rest; they’re pulling us off this shitball. Big operation coming up.”
Matthias wiped his sweaty face. “I’m getting tired of this bullshit.”
Part II: Secrets and Conspiracies
One who deceives will always find those who allow themselves to be deceived.
Niccolo Machiavelli
Bandele
“He can’t be trusted.”
Bandele regained consciousness just as a voice uttered the declaration. He resisted the temptation to touch his aching head or open his eyes; he soon discovered he couldn’t do the former because something bound his hands behind his back. He tasted something awful in his mouth and realized it was a gag.
“Why not?” said another voice.
“Because he’s one of them!”
“I’m one of them!”
He realized they spoke Anglic, the common tongue of the Union. He had been speaking Shoresi almost exclusively for the last six years, so to hear his first language was a bit of a shock.
“He’s one of the few on Jala that can help us,” said the second, who used the native Ral name for the planet, rather than ‘Akaisha’.”
“Did you work with him?” asked the suspicious one.
“Some. I was just assigned to Gunnarsson Outpost when he was transferred to patrol duty. His service on Jala was some sort of prison sentence.”
Do I know him? His voice does sound a little familiar.
“You mean he’s a criminal? How can we trust a criminal?”
“You’re a criminal! Anyway, rumor has it the Union hung him out to dry as part of some sort of cover-up, so he has some motive to help. He did decide to stay on Jala after his sentence was finished. That must be worth something?”
“He’s probably a spy.”
“For the love of Fala! He did his work as assigned, and just walked out the front gates when he finished his sentence.”
“He did work with the Imperial Army patrols as a consultant, hunting us down.”
“That’s because he was supposed to. If he didn’t do what he was told, they would have thrown him back in prison. Would you just relax? How much harm could he do? He looks eighty years old!”
“Well, wake him up.”
Bandele felt a splash of water over his entire body. Angry, he struggled, and realized they had tied him to a chair. He fell sideways and hit his head on the floor, stars filling his vision.
“Get him up.”
Two figures appeared in Bandele’s blurry vision and he felt hands pulling him upright. One took the gag out of his mouth. The place was dark with a dirt floor, but he saw a faint light filtering in through gaps in the walls. It was a shanty, little better than the shack he called home, and the place was cold.
Bandele coughed and spit for a few moments. “Who the fuck are you?” He looked around as his captors slowly came into focus. One was obviously Human, but wore the common costume of the Ral in this part of the continent, a heavy colorful tunic over shirt and trousers. He had shaved the sides of his head, and a long braid hung over one shoulder. The other was a Ral, one of the native Hominins on Akaisha. He wore similar clothes, but had tattoos all over his face and arms and his shaved head. Even in this light Bandele saw the green tinge of the Hominin’s skin, the long skull and the wide jaw.
“He doesn’t blend in too easily, does he,” said the Ral. “He’s dressed like us, but with that black skin he sticks out like a hair on an ukur’s ass.” The Ral stepped closer. “Why are you in Kularin? You’re a long way from Akintola Spaceport. What are you doing here?”
“I live here, fuckwit. For the last six Earth years. Now, do you and your colleague want to untie me?”
“Why would we do that?”
“So I can ring your fucking neck, that’s why.”
“Just calm down, Bandele,” the Human said, “we’re not going to hurt you. In fact, we need your help.”
“Ah! The good guy bad guy routine. Am I supposed to know you?”
The two men looked at each other for a moment, then the Human spoke. “I’m Gary Tibilov. We served together for a few weeks back at Gunnarsson. Do you remember?”
“Yeah, I remember. You’re the snot-nose moron I trained to do my job. You still Exploration Service?”
“No. I walked away, like you did, and I think for the same reason.”
“And what would that be, Mr. Tibilov?”
“You know what the Union is really doing on Jala.”
There it was, tickling the back of his head: his conscience. Bandele sighed. “Untie me and bring me some water, okay? I promise not to kick both your asses.”
The two men laughed. Tibilov stepped forward and untied Bandele’s hands; he pulled a canteen from a pocket of his tunic and handed it to Bandele.
Bandele drank deep and rubbed his wrists. “If you two wanted my help, why didn’t you just ask for it?”
“We don’t know if we can trust you,” the Ral said.
“What’s your name? From your tattoos I see you’re a high ranking member of Jala Resurgent.”
“I am Jala Resurgent. I am Morka Valans.”
The leader of the planet-wide insurgency! Bandele’s fear quickly gave way to anger. “How many people are you going to kill today? Will it be a stand-up fight? Or are you gonna bomb another market or school?”
Valans just smiled.
Bandele looked at Tibilov. “Have you thrown your lot in with these terrorists? If so, kill me now. I’m not going to help you.”
Valans looked at Tibilov. “I told you. He’s still one of them.”
Bandele spoke in Shoresi. “No. I’m not one of them. I’m me! And I’ve had enough ukurshit to last the rest of my life, short though it may be. Let me go and live in peace; I want no part in your revolution.”
“Bandele…”
“And you!” Bandele turned to Tibilov and spoke Anglic. “You’re a fool for walking away. The only reason I’m still on Akai-, Jala, is because I’m not permitted to leave. The Exploration Service, the USS, the Union, they all fucked me. They’ll never let me leave because of what I know, and believe me, I really want to get off this shitball of a world. So, unless you can find some way to get me off Jala, I’m not going to help you.”
Tibilov pulled up another wooden chair and sat on it backwards. “And with all they’ve done to you, you still cower in fear.”
“That’s right! They’ve got all the power; they can lie and manipulate events to their favor with impunity. There is no way to fight them.”
“And so you’ll die on this shitball of a world, alone. Is that what you want?”
“Of course not. I’ll get off this rock on my own.”
“Escape plan, hmmm?” Tibilov smiled. “What if I were to tell you we can fight them. We know what they’re doing here; we just need to reveal that information to the rest of the people on this planet. Once that happens, revolution will be inevitable, but we need proof.”
“And how do you propose we do that?”
“You were stationed at Forward Outpost 39 for a Jala year.”
“Yes.”
“You know the layout of the place, the guard deployment, security features, that sort of stuff.”
“What the hell for?”
“We can get in and tap the Imperial network; input a tapeworm virus, gather information, and then get out.”
“Stupid idea. As Valans so eloquently pointed out, I stick out like a turd in a salad.
The USS is watching me; I’m sure of it. One dumb move and I’m back in prison getting my ass violated. No way.”
“We can take care of the USS long enough for you to help,” Valans said.
“What about the collaborators? The Akaisha Union Militia? They have informants everywhere.”
“He’s right,” Valans said. “The Imperials stick to the garrison around Akintola, or hole up in the forward outposts, but the militia will spot him easily. It’s better he not come along; he can just give us the information.”
Tibilov sighed and looked at the Ral. “I thought you didn’t trust him?”
“Wait a minute,” Bandele said, rubbing the back of his head, “I told you, I’m not going anywhere. I need to stay here; it’s my only way off Jala.”
“Expecting rescue?” Tibilov smiled. “What would you say if we told the Union Militia or the USS you were already helping us? Or that you were planning escape? What then?”
Valans chuckled.
Bandele felt the anger press against the backside of his eyeballs. “You motherfuckers!”
“We will inform on you if we need to,” Tibilov said, “but we don’t want to do that. We want you to come willingly.” He stood. “Come on, you know what the Ral have gone through and how they’re getting fucked over by the Union, just like you did. Get a little payback, Bandele. It’ll feel great.”
“I don’t want to kill anyone.” Bandele looked at Tibilov. “Do you hear me? No killing!”
“We’ll take care of that,” Valans said, “I guarantee you.”
Goddamn it! How do I get mixed up in this shit! It’s true; Bandele did have some sympathy for the Ral. United Earth abandoned the Ral as soon as they liberated the world from a century spent under the claw of the Snirr. Eighty percent of the population had died during the occupation, and the Ral had to begin rebuilding their ecologically destroyed planet alone. Then the Union came and demanded loyalty, and soon were exploiting the Ral for commercial profit.
The Ral had exchanged cruel masters for rapacious ones.
However, one secret policy encouraged rebellion; a policy in direct contradiction to the very founding act of the Hominin Union.
“Fuck! Okay. I’ll help you fuck those bastards; it seems I really don’t have a choice. But you gotta help me get off this rock when the time comes. All right?”
Tibilov smiled. “You won’t regret this, Bandele.”
“I already have; believe me.”
When the USS released him from Tyco Crater Prison after thirty months, Bandele thought the worst of his sentence was over. His time in prison comprised being cooped up in a small cell, eating slop, and navigating his way between the rival gangs and factions that controlled the place. Though ostensibly a medium security facility, Bandele was physically violated, but only once, and once was enough. He kept his manners and spent his time reading and watching whatever the Union Security Service would allow. Akaisha would be a breeze compared to that.
He was wrong.
In 2637, three years after the court sentenced him, Bandele stepped onto a planet in full-blown rebellion against the Crown. Four years earlier, in ‘33, one of the new Consul’s first official acts was to send elements of the Fifth Fleet and two Marine battalions to assist the Union Security Service in dealing with a chronic insurgency that had flared for nine years. Two years after that, in ‘35, Her Majesty ordered a full armored corps and a full infantry corps to Akaisha, but the more boots and treads dispatched, the worse it got.
The Imperial Exploration Service personnel on Akaisha were little more than an adjunct of the Union Security Service. The USS directed most resources toward understanding more about the native Hominins, the Ral, and their culture, for quelling the insurgency. What resources remained the IES spent understanding the extent and possible remediation of the planet’s ecological damage suffered during the Snirr occupation. The Exploration service first assigned Bandele to its office at Akintola Spaceport near the capital of Haroka. His first duty was evaluating USS operations reports, studying them for information about Ral culture. He had some training in cultural homipology, but he was by no means an expert.
After two years, the USS ordered him to work as an observer on operations into the native zones, accompanying Militia and USS patrols to ferret out insurgents. By this time, he had learned the most spoken language of the natives and had good knowledge of their culture. He suited up every day in light battle armor despite his advanced age of seventy-three, but the USS never allowed him to carry a weapon, nor did he want to.
The ranking Union Security Service officer at Akintola Spaceport, Colonel Joan Emboto, held an obvious contempt for the Ral. Bandele recognized the name, even out here: a prominent family from Lagos. Colonel Emboto referred to them as “op-heads” or “grungies” and fostered a shoot-first-ask-questions-later attitude in both the USS and the Militia. At first, she thought Bandele a kindred spirit, despite his history, but soon began to view him with suspicion, thinking he treated the natives with far too much kindness and clemency. However, she had her orders, and placed him on patrols in some of the most dangerous native zones.
At first, the young troops called him “pops” or “grandad” and would fashion crutches for him; one time a young man brought along a wheelchair. Bandele took all of this in stride, but some of the security personnel thought he was a liability because of his advanced age. It was true, he was having a few problems with his hip, but he was fit enough to accompany the patrols if he didn’t do any fighting. The teasing and joking was nothing to him, especially after thirty months in prison.
The patrols were the most harrowing duty he had ever performed.
He spent most of his time in stinking slums, stepping over Ral strung out on cheap opioids and lying in watery gutters filled with feces and urine. The duty was monotonous, knocking on doors and asking questions, as the soldiers or Militiamen stood around idly, fingers on triggers. The tension was almost unbearable; Bandele didn’t know who was an insurgent and who wasn’t, and the constant threat of attack wore on him.
One time he accompanied a Militia patrol hunting an insurgent responsible for bombing a Militia recruiting station. The explosion killed three and wounded eighteen, all Ral Hominins. Since the attack only killed Ral, the USS was not involved in the investigation. Rumors and tip offs led them to a slum on the outskirts of Haroka. The Militia, furious and looking for payback, knocked down the door of the shanty and shot a young man, little more than a boy, in cold blood, while his mother screamed and wailed. The information, though circumstantial, strongly implicated the young man. This event impressed Bandele as to the hatred between those Ral collaborating with the Union and those in the insurgency. However, the majority of the population was caught in the middle; Bandele knew that most liked the benefits of Union rule, like access to technology and better food, but hated the idea of someone other than the Ral calling the shots.
A few months later, Bandele accompanied a USS armored patrol deep into the countryside outside the capital, Haroka. Three days earlier a similar patrol suffered the loss of several vehicles and personnel from improvised explosive devices and an ambush. Enraged, the security personnel, mostly Human, accompanied by some Hominins from worlds other than Earth or Akaisha, tracked the attackers to a small village, slaughtered all the inhabitants, and razed all of the rickety wooden buildings to the ground. Shocked and angry, Bandele confronted the commander of the patrol, threatening to file a complaint with the USS and Army Command. The commander nearly shrugged and said “it was Colonel Emboto that greenlighted this operation.”
He managed to survive, and before he left Akintola Spaceport to perform his final mandated duty, Colonel Emboto snorted with derision and pressed her thumb to the tablet to release him from duty. “Good riddance, grungie lover.”
His final official duty involved helping to implement a plan to repair some of the ecological damage in the northern hemisphere. What he saw at Forward Outpost 39 he would never forget.
&
nbsp; Before they left the shanty, Tibilov bound Bandele’s wrists again and put a sack over his head. “This is for your own protection.” There was little Bandele could do with Valans holding a blaster pistol to his head. After they dragged him out of the shack, they tossed him into a vehicle; Bandele felt the motion and heard the whine of the fuel-cell powered electric motor. Whenever he tried to sit up, someone pushed him over. He heard no conversation, and did not know how many others rode in the vehicle with him.
Despite his discomfort and the motion of the vehicle, Bandele slept. Exhausted, he had spent six years in the town of Kularin, scratching out an existence as a language and cultural interpreter between the local inhabitants and any USS or Imperial official that passed through the place. He had managed to avoid both the insurgency and any further entanglements with the USS over that time, but the stress wore on him. Now that Rala Resurgent had him, he relaxed and slept a deep and dreamless sleep.
Bandele woke; his body felt stiff and sore. He had no idea how much time had passed, but the vehicle had stopped moving and he heard vehicle doors opening and low voices. Someone grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him upright. The bag came off his head, and he felt the cool breeze caress his face.
“We’re here,” Tibilov said in Anglic, his face partially lit in the darkness.
“Where?” As Bandele’s eyes adjusted, he looked around and saw several large tents set up between large trees, the long dagger-like leaves rustling in the breeze. Several lanterns cast dark shadows about the camp. A strange greenish-yellow light filtered down through the trees; Bandele looked up and saw the curving curtains of the planet’s aurora.
“Thirty kilometers south of the outpost.” Tibilov pulled Bandele to his feet outside the vehicle and removed the cords binding Bandele’s wrists. “The nuna trees hide us from any direct observation from orbit, and confuse any cell activity sensors.” He handed Bandele a canteen, and Bandele drank. Tibilov beckoned to him. “Follow me.”
The Borrega Test Page 15
