Chimera Company - Deep Cover 2

by Tim C. Taylor

  “I will not communicate with Kanha Wei.”

  “Nor indirectly via third parties you suspect to be connected to Kanha Wei.”

  “Nor third parties. I acknowledge the spirit of your instruction and comply.”

  “Now get the hell out of my sight.”

  Izza fingered the EMP disc once more, but the little droid had fled by the time she’d retrieved it.

  She paid for another fifteen-minute holo-tour of Tej Prime and its Dyson ring, but this time, even its majesty couldn’t distract her.

  OSU SYBUTU

  “What about my men?” Osu demanded. “Where are they, and what have you done with them?”

  “Please calm yourself, Sergeant,” said the woman in the uniform of a Legion staff captain. “This is a debriefing, not an interrogation.”

  Osu folded his arms and looked pointedly at the other occupants of the dimly lit compartment, deep in the bowels of JSHC. On the other side of the table, sitting alongside the captain, was a female Kurlei who had stared at him since he’d been brought in, but had said nothing. She also wore a staff officer’s uniform, but one devoid of rank insignia. What that meant was anyone’s guess.

  By contrast, the two legionaries guarding the only door were easy to read. They wore the uniforms of the 6th Legion Command Brigade, and the PA-71 rifles they carried told Osu all he needed to know about their role in these proceedings.

  “They’re just doing their job, Sergeant,” said the staff captain, following his attention. “As are we all. Your men are safe and well, and we are simply interviewing you separately to avoid the risk of cross contamination between your stories. It isn’t that we don’t believe you, but if you confer with the others, we get to hear an amalgam of your individual perspectives. We might miss a critical detail that helps us to understand what happened on Rho-Torkis.”

  Osu said nothing. He didn’t believe a word.

  The captain sighed. “Is it the surroundings? Yes, this is an interrogation room, but it’s convenient because we’re recording everything, including your body’s reaction. It is common in the case of traumatic and confusing events for individuals to form inaccurate memories. Details are subconsciously altered, or left out, to leave a sequence of events that makes sense to them. We can detect these subconscious deceits. We can see the truth better than you can yourself. This is in no way a reflection on your service or your honor.”

  “Nope,” Osu told his interrogator. “I don’t mind the surroundings. I’ll tell you how I know this isn’t a debriefing. I’ve never heard a staff captain say please before.”

  The officer’s face soured, which brought a flickering smirk to the Kurlei’s face. “You may call this what you will, Sergeant Sybutu. Nonetheless, you will answer my questions. Let’s go back to the man who calls himself Captain Fitzwilliam. What do you know about him?”

  Osu took a deep breath and began again.

  VETCH ARUNSEN.

  “What have you done with my troopers?”

  “I ask the questions, Arunsen.”

  His interrogator sneered with every word. Vetch hadn’t figured this man out yet. Was he being so irritating to rile up the subject of his interrogation and provoke a slip? Or was he permanently obnoxious in every aspect of his life?

  The man’s dark eyes pierced Arunsen with harsh scrutiny, seeming to read his every thought.

  Vetch had the worrying sense that his interrogator was uninterested in anything he had to say. The man was simply enjoying his power, and that power was limitless, because he wore neither the uniform of regular Militia troops, nor even of the Militia police: his shoulder epaulettes bore the grinning scarlet skulls of the Militia Re-education Division.

  Vetch shifted uneasily on his feet, which had the unfortunate effect of rattling the chains that secured him. The re-educator grinned in emulation of his divisional emblem.

  There was much said of the re-educators. For a start, potential new recruits for the division were carefully screened by psychiatric tests to weed out any who possessed the qualities of compassion and empathy. Only psychopathic sadists were allowed in.

  “You were assigned to Rho-Torkis following a serious disciplinary incident on Lose-Viborg,” said the re-educator. “The entirety of Raven Company was designated a punishment unit. It’s a harsh judgement, but one that tests the true mettle of troopers who have strayed. Some dig deep into reserves of professionalism and try to better themselves. Redemption is possible for these individuals, who will eventually return to unsullied Militia units as better troopers than they were before. Others show their true worth by deserting, or even murdering their comrades. What qualities did you reveal on Rho-Torkis, Arunsen? How is it that you ended up here, at Joint Sector High Command?”

  “I’m no deserter. I was following orders.”

  The interrogator snorted. “That won’t do. You arrive here on an apparently civilian ship – the Phantom – which gives the appearance of a non-standard free trader vessel, the kind popular with smugglers. A group of deserters might seek out such a ship to smuggle them off world. And yet appearances are often deceptive. Our friends in the Legion are acting very strangely around this ship, suppressing information about it, and marking it off-limits during a refit. Despite this, they claim they’ve never seen this vessel before. I wonder whether this Phantom is in fact used by a Legion dark ops team.”

  “I led a patrol that encountered a small Legion team in the ice wastes,” Vetch explained. “We brought them back to our base. Major Shinto Yazzie ordered us to escort them to their destination in the capital. I was part of a punishment company. It wasn’t my place to question the officer’s orders.”

  “How convenient. The major said this. The colonel said that. The first president of the Federation appeared to you in a vision and ordered you to do the other. We’ve lost contact with Rho-Torkis, so there’s no one to back up your fanciful story, Arunsen. However,” – the re-educator smiled, and for the first time the expression seemed to hold genuine warmth – “I’m inclined to believe you when you say you were following orders. I don’t think you’re a deserter, Vetch. Oh, I’m sure that some of your companions are genuine deserters, but you were using them as cover, weren’t you? You were following orders, all right. Just not Militia ones. You’re a far worse variety of scum than a deserter, Arunsen. You’re a Legion spy.”

  The re-educator’s grin turned feral. “Interrogating you is going to be a delight.”

  TAVISTOCK FITZWILLIAM

  Fitz was pulled along the passageway like a child’s helium-filled balloon. He might not have been filled with gas, despite what his detractors might say, but with the passageway set to null gravity he felt as if he were. And it wasn’t a child stringing him along by the carbon fiber threads, which were wrapped into an unbreakable bracelet around his wrists, but an armor-clad legionary with boots mag-clamping to the deck.

  A second guard marched behind.

  “You know,” he told the guard in front, “you’d look the part of a little girl better if you held a half-melted ice cream in your other hand.”

  To Fitz’s disappointment, these guards weren’t responding to flippancy. Saying nothing, they thumped their way along the corridor until it terminated in a secure door.

  “This is your cell,” said the jack behind him. “Once we’ve returned to the main security area, the air will be evacuated from the tube we’ve just walked through. There are no pressure suits or air tanks in your cell. Hack your way out of your door and you’ll asphyxiate.”

  The heavy cell door swished open, but whatever awaited Fitz inside was impossible to see through the opaque shimmer of a null field. This prevented any form of vibration or electromagnetic waves to pass through. Once he was through that shield, he would be utterly cut off from the outside universe until such time as the outside universe cared to talk to him.

  The legionary freed Fitz’s wrists and unceremoniously pushed him through the null field.

  Gravity rippled through him. While his le
gs were still floating in the zero gravity outside, his head was already falling in whatever passed for ‘down’ inside his cell.

  He wrapped his arms around his head and did his best to curl into his fall. His leading shoulder impacted a thick-pile carpet and he rolled, coming to a stop against a hollow wooden object that rattled with the distinctive glassy tinkle of jostling liquid-filled bottles.

  He sat up and slid open the door to the drinks cabinet he’d just bumped into.

  “My, oh, my.” Lucky chance or has someone been doing their homework? He whistled, impressed, as he inspected a bottle of Pryxian Blue Label, the finest brandy he’d ever smuggled. It looked genuine enough, but there was only one way to test it properly.

  He poured the golden liquid into a sparkling cut glass and rolled the contents around his mouth.

  “That’s the right stuff,” he sighed, and threw himself backward into the air beside the drinks cabinet, relaxing his body into the bands of force arcs that caught his fall and then adjusted themselves for the perfect comfort of his personal physiology.

  “Good job someone thought to turn the force couch on,” he mused as he took in the cramped compartment into which a bed, a holo-unit, and a tiny table and chair had also been stuffed. Someone had even constructed a portable bathroom inside his cell. Definitely a step up from the crude bucket that he had become accustomed to in his extensive experience of solitary confinement.

  Indeed, it was the most luxurious VIP cell he’d ever been incarcerated within.

  A ghostly figure beamed itself out of the holo-projector. It was a human male in a black naval uniform with an admiral’s star on the high collar. The name ‘Nuysp’ was embroidered over the admiral’s chest.

  Fitz leaned forward to get a closer look.

  Yes… the man’s lower jaw and right cheek had been replaced. And his curly black hair had gone, leaving stubble and scars in its place, but this was definitely the man he’d once known as Captain Obinquin Nuysp.

  “Glad to see you’re making yourself at home,” said the admiral. “You’ll appreciate the need for subterfuge until I figure out what the hell to do with your unexpected visit. I can assure you most residents of that cell experience a less luxurious confinement. Nor do they have the hidden exit explained to them.”

  Nuysp’s lower jaw trembled subtly. Fitz had the sense that the admiral was desperate to say more but could not for some reason.

  “Dinner’s at eight,” Fitz quipped. “By all means bring a guest. Why not bring two? Especially if your companions are attractive.”

  “You haven’t changed,” laughed the admiral, but the laugh soon shut off and his face clouded with dark memories. A lot had changed in the sixteen years since they had last met, and Fitz had only to see the admiral’s expression to know that not all had been for the better. “You’ll have to cool your heels for a few hours, I’m afraid, but I’ll see you tonight. Nuysp out.”

  VETCH ARUNSEN

  “Vetch Arunsen, you are an extremely fortunate man.”

  Vetch certainly didn’t feel lucky. Before going into cryo for what he thought would be a 150-year journey, he’d convinced himself that he’d escaped the bad luck he’d brought upon Raven Company back on Lose-Viborg. With the Phantom, they could run from their fate. Run and hide.

  But first, Fitz had gotten himself arrested on Cyan-1-4 for no reason that made sense. Then the Phantom had been escorted to Joint Sector High Command in the Tej system. There was literally nowhere in the sector where Vetch and his comrades would find it more difficult to escape scrutiny.

  A scrutiny that currently took the form of this grinning re-educator ape.

  “Unchain me,” he growled at his tormentor, “and let my fists show you how grateful I am for my good fortune.”

  The man licked his lips at the prospect of violence. Amazingly, he seemed to be considering Vetch’s request. Not that there was any possibility of escape, but Vetch wanted to taste the re-educator’s blood on his knuckles. Anything would be worth that final pleasure.

  The interrogator shook his head sadly. “The sector marshal wants rid of you. To her, you’re an inconvenience. She has no interest in extracting the truth of your treason. Pity. You’ve been found guilty of desertion instead.”

  “What? The others… my comrades? What of them?”

  “Already tried and convicted.”

  “But…”

  “Yes?”

  The bugger was smiling. Vetch knew what the bastard wanted to hear.

  But I haven’t had a fair trial.

  I demand due process.

  The truth was that due process for lowly troopers was generally regarded as optional, and punishment troopers didn’t enjoy even theoretical rights.

  At these times, Vetch found it hard to feel pride in the Militia.

  “I wish to appeal,” he said, suddenly hoping there might be a loophole around the appeal process. He felt an idiot as soon as he’d uttered the words.

  “Very well,” said the re-educator. “You have appealed. Of course, you are a punishment trooper. Scum among scum. You can appeal as much as you like because no one is listening, and no one cares.”

  “Why am I even here? Why bother telling me this in person?”

  “Why? Because I wanted to see your face, Vetch. I wanted to taste your defeat, and I have to do it now because there won’t be an after. Sentence will be carried out immediately.”

  TAVISTOCK FITZWILLIAM

  Streams of bubbles plowed through the ball of liquid amber, rebounding off the underside of its surface like drunken freight convoys.

  Every time a bubble burst against Fitz’s skin, it detonated in an electric tingle of sheer pleasure.

  He broke the surface and wiped the thick liquid from his eyes before beaming at the other occupant of the jacuzzi.

  “Much as I’m enjoying your company, Nuysp, I’m imagining a superior reality in which it’s my wife playing footsie with me. You’ve set a powerful desire in my heart to install a zero-gee jacuzzi like this on Phantom.”

  “An excellent idea,” said Nuysp. “Maybe I’ll do the same on my pinnace. After all, it’s a long way home, but I’m setting off tomorrow.”

  Fitz raised an eyebrow. Nuysp was using the same recognition phrase that Malix had given Sybutu, but was the admiral merely parroting what he’d learned from Chimera Company?

  “Any particular reason why you’re headed off?” asked Fitz.

  “The tide is going out,” Nuysp replied, continuing the phrase Sybutu had used in Bresca-Brevae. “We need to slip our moorings.”

  “I see you’ve listened to my dutiful jack passengers.” Fitz bought time to think by reaching for the nearest floating wine bulb.

  Fitz had chosen his words carefully. They were a challenge phrase, and since Nuysp hadn’t responded, it meant he wasn’t part of Kanha Wei’s faction – wasn’t aware of the deal Fitz had cut with Wei. Obinquin Nuysp wasn’t in Naval Intelligence at all… unless he was pretending to be ignorant, of course. Fitz smiled at the man. I don’t think you’ve any idea what’s going on under your nose, Obinquin. But I can still use you.

  Fitz took a sip of wine. “The phrase you used is a request to check-in.”

  “Check-in with whom? With Malix? Was he in the Firm?”

  Fitz’s face soured. “He was. Malix was also once my best friend, but he wasn’t…” He paused and licked his lips. There had been a time when it would have been anathema for Fitz to reveal even the slightest details about the Firm and its operatives. But that time was gone, and Fitz no longer knew whether anyone in the Legion remained trustworthy. He needed allies, though. Desperately. So he decided to trust the 4th Fleet’s admiral.

  “Malix wasn’t the person who set herself up as my handler. That was Apinya Lantosh, and I’d heard nothing from her since shortly after I was hung up to dry by the Legion. I was busy handling my own affairs on Rho-Torkis when a clueless jack appeared out of nowhere and gave me a message to check in with the office. So I did, only t
o discover that the boss is now a treasonous criminal. Apinya Lantosh gone bad? Never! What the hell is going on, Admiral? How could you let Lantosh be taken? Whatever happened to Hold the Line? Did you worry that standing up for what’s right would mean an end to zee-gee jacuzzis and Blue Label brandy? Oh, wait… we already know the answer. We learned that sixteen years ago.”

  “You will shut your loose mouth, mister. That is an order.”

  Nuysp was standing in a zero-gee ball of bubbly goo, with an amber meniscus lapping up his scarred neck. He was mostly hidden, but what was on display piqued Fitz’s interest with the inconsistent body language. He expected Nuysp to be angry. Or possibly ashamed. But he was neither. The man was all business and looking down into the jacuzzi ball.

  The admiral sunk beneath the surface. Fitz followed him into the liquid and paid close attention to the standard Legion hand gestures Nuysp was making.

  “We are under surveillance,” he signaled. Followed by, “Wait for orders.”

  Fitz broke the surface, spluttering. Izza! He had to get a message to her. If whoever was operating in the shadows could penetrate the admiral’s security, then they would hear every word of the Chimera Company debriefings. Half the rabble he’d picked up on Rho-Torkis didn’t seem to know their butts from their elbows, but what little they did know was too much. They just didn’t realize it.

  Oh, my lady, what have I done?

  TAVISTOCK FITZWILLIAM

  Ever since stepping out of the jacuzzi, Fitz had been throwing Nuysp flirtatious glances. The admiral had made such a good job of returning a hungry look that Fitz wondered how much of the man’s response was an act.

  No matter. While Fitz was half-finished drying after his shower, Nuysp stepped inside his privacy shroud. Fitz doubted whether anyone watching would buy this story of middle-aged man action, but at least they had tried.

  “The Legion’s been infiltrated,” Nuysp announced without ceremony.