Hold the Line (Chimera Company Book 5)

by Tim C. Taylor

  Ibson Arena

  Zanitch raised a drink to the backs of Urdizine and Pyruula as they retired for the evening.

  Simmering lightweights. According to both Ghost Shark ship time and JSHC time, it was early evening. “I’m glad it’s down to just us,” Zanitch said, raising his glass again, this time to the two remaining freaks drinking with him at the long table. “Out of all of Indigo Squad, you two fascinate me the most.”

  Zaydok ignored him. The squid woman, Zee, showed the tips of her fangs and hissed in her own language, no doubt cursing him.

  He laughed and took a moment to look out across the arena. The evening crowd was only just drifting in, but already there was a fight underway on the sand—two Zhoogenes in leather armor hacking at each other with broadswords. That was righteous entertainment!

  The only reason an Indigo Squad group was here was because Pyruula had suggested it would be a good idea. A goodwill gesture to the arena’s owner. Suggested.

  It was obvious the Lungwoman was used to giving orders, not suggestions, unlike Urdizine.

  The Zhoogene sapper was supposed to be in charge, but he was way out of his zone of competence in every respect. Perhaps he would come good when the shooting started—which it undoubtedly would.

  Zanitch had needed no persuasion to come here for a drink. He loved this place, and it wasn’t just the fighters and revelers who fascinated him.

  “You two can’t stand each other,” he said to Zee and Zaydok, “that’s obvious, and yet you insisted on bunking together. Do you even know why?”

  Zee grumbled at the back of her throat.

  “You know what I think?” Zanitch said to his reluctant new friends. “You know the two sergeants in Chimera Company? Sybutu and Arunsen? I hear they loathed each other on sight. I’m not saying they’re friends now, exactly, but from what I hear, it didn’t take long for them to develop a little respect for each other. What took eons was for them to admit that to themselves.”

  “We are not Sybutu and Arunsen,” Zaydok said. “Zee and I are…” He sighed. “We’re beginning to tolerate the idea that we might one day tolerate each other.”

  “We’ll never be friends,” Zee insisted.

  Zaydok snorted. “Certainly not lovers, if that’s what you’re insinuating.”

  Those eye tentacle things on the squid’s head rose like threatened snakes and beamed fury at Zaydok. Man, that had to burn, but Zaydok ignored her, cool as an ice demon.

  “We lost everyone and everything at the Battle of Pirna,” Zee said. “I’m his only tangible connection to a world he’s not ready to let go. He clings to me. It’s pathetic. Without me, he’d shoot himself up into a stupor then walk out into the meanest streets of District Metz, looking for a fight he couldn’t win. He’d be dead by morning. Am I right?”

  Zaydok nodded.

  “You seem to know him very well,” Zanitch probed.

  Her eye stalks turned away. “I know myself well.”

  “Oh!” Zanitch nodded. “Got it. You hang on to Zaydok for the same reason he clings to you. That’s powerful tragedy.”

  He leaned back and drank in the atmosphere. He hoped life would eventually shine on these two kids. Really, he did. But for now, they had a supreme backstory. If he wrote them into a tale, they’d either end up as lovers, or killing each other—probably both.

  Likely they were thinking about their ugly fate right now. That would explain why they were such maudlin company. They were only staying out together because it was better than going back to the room they shared.

  That was seriously screwy, but Zanitch understood some of it. He was sharing with Darant. He liked the guy, a lot, but he snored like a hell beast.

  One more drink, Zanitch decided, and then he’d have to go back and face the white noise.

  Or maybe not.

  Catkins walked in like he lived here, chatting away at the table on the other side of the sand. People all over the place were walking up to the Gliesan with the broken wings to welcome him back. Apparently, Catkins had done some work here previously as a gaming consultant, whatever the hell that meant. He must have done his job really well.

  Later, he’d talk to Catkins and learn his story. First, he’d take one last stab at brightening the mood with the two sad vecks.

  “I’m Zanitch, you’re Zee and Zaydok, and that’s just within Indigo Squad. Chimera Company also has Zavage and Zan Fey.”

  “I agree, it’s confusing,” Zee said. “The root problem is the shallow Terran language we’re all forced to use. The PHPA recognized the systemic Human exceptionalism these names perpetuate. That’s why in my unit, we earned our names. My comrades called me Bear.”

  Zanitch looked her up and down. “Nope. You’re too squiddy to be a bear, and besides, I don’t think we’re friends with the Panhandlers.”

  “I see,” the squid woman said. Even with her eyes on the end of dangling tentacles, he could see a wicked glint come over them. “I hear you’re an accountant in your day job.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Which makes you a bean counter. We shall call you Beans.”

  He smiled. “That’s offensive. Probably illegal.”

  “No worse than calling me ‘squid,’ which is definitely illegal, but you’re going to do it anyway.”

  Zanitch scratched his beard. “I hate it when people use unassailable logic against me.” He spoke in a growl, then he laughed and shook her hand. “Very well, my lady squid. My badass nickname for this op shall be…Beans.”

  He nodded at Zaydok. “How about you? What do your friends call you?”

  “Nothing. They’re all dead.”

  The guy was hurting—they all knew that—but even he seemed to realize he was souring the mood faster than if a parasitic worm had burst out of his eyeball. Which had actually happened to Zanitch’s uncle once. Gross!

  “They used to sometimes call me AG,” Zaydok said with obvious reluctance, “but that was because I was an assistant gunner. Look…Beans, you have something to go back to. A life, family. And you, Kreyenish Zee Squid, you have your messed-up ideology to sustain you. Crazy as it sounds, you two idiots are the closest I have to friends, and that’s not close at all.”

  “It isn’t crazy,” Zanitch said. “I keep telling you, it’s tragic.”

  Squids gave Zaydok a look that might be sympathetic, although it was difficult to be sure with all those tentacles and shit.

  “I guess what I’m saying is, a new name would do me good,” Zaydok said.

  Squids rested a hand on his shoulder. “You’re wrong. The fact that you’re mourning your dead friends means you shouldn’t forget them. They knew you as Zaydok. Keep that name because it remains a strong link from them to you. Don’t dishonor them by throwing away that connection.”

  Zanitch drew a sharp breath. “Holy fucking Azhanti. That’s deep shit.”

  Zaydok brightened a little. “Then it’s agreed. Beans, Squids, and Zaydok.”

  A deep chuckle rose from Zanitch’s ample belly.

  “What’s so funny?” asked the other two.

  “Beans, Squids, and Zaydok. That would be an awesome name for a firm of accountants.”

  The mood lifted even further when Darant and Green Fish came in and joined them.

  For a brief while, it was how Zanitch imagined tavern scenes in his stories—outrageous personal tales told uproariously, happy people banging on the table as they screamed with laughter. The beer flowed.

  Not everyone was happy, though. The new configuration unsettled Squids, and she retired for the night just as the fun was getting started. Darant offered to escort her, explaining that he had a contact nearby he needed to meet, but he promised to be back in an hour or so for a game of Knives. Whatever the hell that was.

  Without Darant, the table went quiet as the Arena grew noisier. Zaydok headed off ten minutes later.

  Thinking District Metz was not a place to wander alone, Zanitch suggested he and Green Fish accompany Zaydok, but the
girl laughed and said it wouldn’t be necessary. They were all under local Guild protection. No one would dare touch them.

  “Maybe it’s a good thing we don’t need to go with him,” Zanitch said. “I’m fascinated by people. That’s why I’m a storyteller. I want to hear your story.”

  “I thought you were an accountant.”

  “I’m a gun dealer, too, but it’s because I’m a storyteller that I’m compelled to ask dangerous questions.”

  “Such as?” She tilted her head and gave him a teasing look.

  He took it as an opportunity to look deep into her eyes and draw out the person behind them.

  The girl was lithe, pretty, and comfortably well spoken, all of which were the kind of privileges that meant good things came easily. When they’d first met, he’d thought she was the kind of middle-class kid playing edgy rebellion before settling down to a job title that included the word consultant. He’d seen it a hundred times before.

  Then he noted the long stares and the pain behind the eyes. This woman was young, but she’d lived a lot. Her optimism and drive were off the scale, which hid a stack of cancerous memories from people who only saw her surface levels.

  He backed off a little behind a half smile and asked the question burning fiercest in his mind. “What does a person have to do to earn a name like Green Fish?”

  * * *

  Adony Zaydok

  Key in hand, Zaydok hesitated before pressing it to the door lock.

  That conversation with Beans and…Squids. He laughed at her name and wondered why she’d taken it without more of a fight.

  The night had gone well. He’d spoken a little, and that had made him feel better. Not much, but there was a glimmer of gray in his darkness.

  The door pinged open, and he walked in, surprised the lights were on full. He quickly forgot the damned lights at the sights and sounds that lay in ambush.

  Darant was naked. On top of Squids. The only thing she was wearing was Darant. Half her eyes were blinking at Zaydok and half at the man who was still humping away as if nothing had happened.

  “Hey, Zaydok,” Darant said cheerfully. “Thought you were staying at the Arena.”

  “Big day tomorrow,” said Zaydok, whose gaze flicked between admiration of Darant’s tattoos and curiosity to see what a Xhiunerite looked like with her clothes off. “Thought I’d turn in early.”

  Darant paused his business. “Err…you want to join in? Never quite understood what Squids means to you, or you to her.”

  Zaydok frowned, wondering whether there was any jealousy within him.

  “No,” he said, “we’re good. I’ll just grab my coat and leave you two to your fun.”

  He meant what he said, but he couldn’t pull his eyes away from Squids.

  “I’m not a fucking tourist attraction!” she yelled.

  “Sorry,” he told her. He walked over to them and clapped Darant on the back. “Glad you’re doing this, buddy. Squids will be so much easier to live with afterwards.”

  “Why you…!” Squids threw a coffee cup that delivered a stinging blow to the side of Zaydok’s head. “Beasts!”

  Zaydok grabbed his coat and ran out, laughing.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Thirty-Three: Silasja

  The people on Silasja’s viewscreen spread out over the transit platform like gobbets of grease over a damp plate.

  Atomized citizens as grease spots. Yeah, that about covered it. The people in the images grabbed coffee, news sheets, lottery tickets, and checked their slates or the advertising displays. Whatever they did, they instinctively spread out to maximize the distance between them.

  No eye contact, no casual conversation, no sense of community, and with good reason. Speaking to strangers was dangerous. Talking to anyone was dangerous if the observation teams were listening in and didn’t like your words.

  But Silasja wasn’t fishing for evidence of dangerous thinking this morning. She’d been assigned a specific target, and she’d lost her.

  She switched the feed to Coriolis Spur, the next transit station outward along the Spindle Line. The view was the same, a different set of people, but playing the same grease spot roles. She swapped to the passenger service on its way between the two stations. With the recent upgrades to the observation network, she could hop carriage to carriage.

  She didn’t know what she was looking for. She didn’t find it, either. What she really needed to locate was her assigned target of interest, Tango Indigo 371. Last sighted on an inner hub ladderwell ten hours ago. It was the only place she’d been spotted since disappearing in District Metz.

  Silasja was clutching at straws. Sighing, she switched off the viewscreen, because she’d let it become a crutch. The odds were long that she would locate the tango using random searches or relying upon auto-identification. She needed to understand her tango. To think like her. Get it right, and she might be able to figure where she’d go before she went there.

  She brought up 371’s file once again.

  Name: Elicient Ramawathan.

  Known alias: Green Fish.

  Planet of origin: Taractacus Alpha.

  Born: FL 3010. (Age: 23 Terran Standard.)

  Education: Studied History of Philosophy at Three Queens University. Course not completed.

  Criminal Record: Level II speech crime: found guilty of victim shaming a victim of alcoholism.

  The report went on to note known criminal associates, service record, and the medical treatment she’d had on her previous visit to JSHC.

  In summary, Green Fish had picked the wrong side in a hot political debate on Taractacus Alpha and been disowned by her parents, fell in with the wrong crowd, and was probably fortunate that it was only a level II speech crime she’d been arrested for. Someone, probably her parents, had pulled strings to commute her sentence to a 10-year enlistment in the Militia.

  So far, so unremarkable. Then in FL 3030, Green Fish had arrived here at JSHC aboard Tavistock Fitzwilliam’s ship, Phantom. She’d been near death, a stab wound puncturing one lung. She’d disappeared from her hospital bed. Accounts conflicted regarding whether she was kidnapped or went willingly.

  The Militia’s judgment had been clear, though. Green Fish’s entire unit was court-martialed for desertion and awarded the death penalty. Sentence was suspended at the pleasure of the sector marshal. In other words, instead of killing the deserters immediately, they’d be kept long enough to die in a suicide mission.

  Which was lucky for Green Fish, because now she was back on JSHC, officially pardoned, reinstated in the Militia, and assigned to a mission so highly classified that no one in the Observation Division could break its encryption seal.

  Gamma Team’s AI had applied fuzzy pattern recombination to suggest Green Fish’s mission might be called Operation Redeal. However, this was a low-confidence intuition.

  Someone in the military had a great deal of faith in Green Fish and all of Phantom’s crew and recent passengers. A lot of favors had been called in, and no one could explain how this was possible.

  The fact that Green Fish had turned up yesterday with Yat Darant—another Fitzwilliam associate—meant all leave had been cancelled. Observation Team Gamma was as close to uproar as it could be, which was a subtle kind of pandemonium for a team whose members knew better than to speak their mind unless unavoidable.

  Where did you go, Green Fish?

  Silasja closed her eyes and imagined being her tango. Why am I here? Who’s my backer? It was no use. Silasja didn’t have enough to build on. Defeated, she switched her viewscreen back on and resumed random hunting.

  With such a huge investment in their equipment, it should be a question of flagging the tango’s details and waiting for the auto detection systems to find them, but there were dark areas where her cameras couldn’t penetrate. Armies could be gathering on the station, and she wouldn’t know.

  The cameras were there but had been deliberately switched off. She knew better than to ask why. Silasja had
opinions on who had the power to tell the observation teams where they shouldn’t look—thoughts she kept to herself.

  Her former supervisor, Sergeant Fon-Derez, had expressed opinions once, told her secrets she didn’t want to know. Shortly after, he’d disappeared, and she knew better than to ask where he’d gone.

  In the past few days, the areas of the station she had eyes on had shrunk further. A stain of darkness was spreading across the map of the station, yet the maintenance reports stated the equipment in these newly dark areas was operating perfectly. She assumed the other observers had noticed this, too, but it was too dangerous to ask them.

  Suddenly, a palpable sense of tension rippled through the delicate balance of the observation room. It was no more than a few voices raised incrementally in excitement. A pause in someone’s typing. The sergeant crossing the room to the workstation of a subordinate.

  Silasja looked.

  The excitement centered around Kensell’s station. Sergeant Meyasu was there with his green hands resting on the edge of the station to get a good look at Kensell’s viewscreen. Specialist Enida was there, too. The excited conversation was conducted in whispers, but Silasja made out two words.

  Fitzwilliam and Phantom. More leads. The Phantom could lead her to Green Fish.

  Tingling with exhilaration and relief, she buried her attention in her viewscreen before anyone noticed she’d been listening in. Then Enida’s excitement got the better of him, and he said something so loud, everyone in the room must have heard.

  “Operation Redeal has begun.”

  * * * * *

  Chapter Thirty-Four: Kreyenish “Squids” Zee

  Hall of Spurrell, District Metz, JSHC

  Squids curled her eye tentacles back on herself and looked within. Metaphorically, of course. All her eyes were shut, but it was useful mental imagery to help her concentrate.

  Heartbeat by heartbeat, she thought less of holding hands in a circle of problematic aliens sitting on the dirty floor of the fight arena’s backroom. Instead, she saw herself in a ring of shining minds.