Chimera Company - Deep Cover 4

by Tim C. Taylor

  “You can trust me. Believe in that.”

  “I…” Surprise exploded within him. Her mouth! It hadn’t moved when she spoke. She was still asleep. “I do, Green Fish,” he whispered. “I trust you.”

  “Good,” she said, speaking through her mouth this time as she opened her dark eyes sleepily. “Then read me some more. You’d hardly started.”

  “I didn’t realize you were awake.”

  “I wasn’t. Not really. It’s just…” She yawned. “I like listening to your thoughts, Vol. They’re comforting. Restful.”

  “But… you should not be able to hear them. Ours is a union divinely blessed. Unique. Precious as the last blossom of spring.”

  “Too much, you dumb Kurlei.” She sounded so weak, but he treasured every labored word that spilled from those lips. “Dial it back, okay? Let’s just settle for saying it’s nice.”

  “Nice? The word doesn’t do this miracle justice.”

  “Tough. It’ll have to do its best for today. It’s all you’re getting.”

  He stretched out his jaw in wonder at this marvelous being whose mind was already entwining around his in ways so perfect he feared he would choke with burning anticipation. And her warm human flesh invited him to explore her until their minds and bodies united in passion.

  “Down, boy!” She cleared her throat. “Greenie’s not coming out to play today.”

  He laughed and stroked back her hair before planting a kiss on her forehead in the human way, though he kept his head close. “Then heal fast, my love. You have no idea of what this connection we feel might mean for us.”

  “Oh, believe me. I can. Can hardly stop imagining it.”

  With her fleshy fingers she brushed away a kesah-kihisia frond that had fallen onto her head.

  Then she thought better of it and pressed it gently to her temple.

  To him it felt like exotic radiation passed between them through the conduit of his organ of empathy. Like the flux tubes linking Tej Prime to its Dyson ring.

  Did she feel any of this?

  No… she couldn’t be, because she released her grip and the connection slipped away.

  But it had been there, all right.

  “You shouldn’t be able to do this,” he told her, trying hard to suppress his eagerness and keep his voice gentle. “We shouldn’t. After years of close friendship, as a human you might feel a little of my mind in yours, and yet… A rarefied energizing force I do not understand connects us.”

  “You’re full of bollocks, Vol. If there’s an energizing force, it’s the frustration we both feel because we haven’t been able to jump each other. Savage cold, burning cities…” – she sighed – “swords wielded by old friends… you should know that my life has always worked hard to block the path to lust sweet lust.”

  Zavage gently rested his head on hers, allowing his fronds to spill over her. He meditated on his feelings for her, thrilling in the knowledge that she would hear them.

  “You’re as soft as warm butter,” she told him. “Stay with me, Vol. Warm me with your thoughts as I sleep.”

  Within seconds she was snoring. How did humans do that? He adored this person, but this was such an unlovely sound.

  “Forgive me,” he whispered to her. “I am already late for the celebration our captain has called. I would rather sit with you, my Green Fish, but I need to learn more of this Tavistock Fitzwilliam.”

  He clamped his mouth shut, suddenly fearing surveillance. Fitz and Zan Fey were complicated people with deep agendas he suspected weren’t entirely clear even to them. Which meant he couldn’t trust them.

  The summons had been for drinks at the Captain’s Table at 19:30 hours. He looked at the slate. 19:36.

  “It won’t take long,” he whispered. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  Zavage lifted Green Fish’s hand and kissed it, returning it to her side with the gentlest of squeezes.

  VOL ZAVAGE

  “Ah, there he is,” gushed Fitz upon Zavage’s entrance. The captain rose and patted him on his shoulder.

  On the surface, Fitz’s thoughts fizzed with effusive bonhomie consistent with his greeting. It wasn’t false, so much as deliberately layered on top of deeper emotions that were closed to Zavage. The human’s mind was complex and agile in ways Zavage could only glimpse in outline, because it was also tightly controlled. It was unlike any other human he’d met. Probably something to do with his ‘mutant’ nature.

  “Good to have you here, Mr. Zavage. I know we’re keeping you from your favorite member of our new marine contingent. I hope you didn’t tire her out.”

  “She’s sleeping now,” Zavage replied awkwardly. “I read to her.”

  Fitz laughed. “Poetry, no doubt. I don’t know your race well, but I do know that Kurlei and Jotuns consider themselves the Federation’s natural poets. Humans are poets too, in our own way. We specialize in the poetry of companionship.”

  “Speaking of which,” said Bronze, thrusting a cold bottle into Zavage’s hand, “get those rubber-dot lips of yours around that.”

  “Sit. Drink. Listen,” Sybutu told him.

  Zavage joined Sybutu, Bronze and Fitz around the captain’s table. This, it turned out, meant the quarters he shared with the first mate. For a ship of this class, though, the compartment size was very generous, which tallied with the story he’d heard that Phantom once belonged to a powerful figure in the Outer Torellian Commerce Guild.

  A painting of Fitz and Zan Fey was mounted above a bed large enough to accommodate a half-troop of armored legionaries. Zhoogene script was scrawled over it in fat blue pen. A rounded panel in the opposite bulkhead held two tiny bronze jars, each stoppered with a gleaming cut jewel. If he understood Zhoogene customs correctly, these were love safes, and the jewels red diamonds. Inside each lover’s jar would be a precious talisman of the other. Perhaps a data chip of video recordings, a clipping of head growth, or a ring. Whatever it was would hold a powerful memory.

  But the Zhoogene herself, and the rest of the crew, weren’t here.

  Zavage shrugged and took a swig of the beer, which was cold and refreshingly bitter.

  “Since you’ve recently experienced interrogation,” said Fitz, “I thought it would be a gas to turn tables for a change. It’s your turn to ask me whatever you like. I might even answer.”

  “Why did you bring Khallini to Rho-Torkis?” opened Sybutu.

  “Money. We have… an aggressive debt repayment schedule to meet.”

  “Did you know what he would do there?” Sybutu pressed.

  “No. Asking questions is always dangerous in my line of work. So is not asking them at times, but in this case, I was nothing more than the driver.”

  “How did you win the contract to smuggle Khallini to Rho-Torkis?” Sybutu continued. “Did he approach you directly, or did a third party bring you together?”

  “I’m afraid that it is too dangerous for you to know.”

  “Dangerous for who?” Zavage asked. “Us or you?”

  “Quite!”

  Sybutu snorted. “So, ask me whatever you like, so long as it is nothing to do with Lord Khallini.”

  “So it seems.”

  “Okay. Who sent those ships after us, and were they the same people who killed the admiral in District Metz?”

  “An enigmatic young lady called Kanha Wei claims at least one of those outrages to be the work of this Department 9, which your Mr. Bronze informs me could be a branch of the Legion Special Missions Executive. Keep it coming, guys. We’re on a roll.”

  “Why did you recruit us?”

  “Is this connected with Colonel Lantosh’s arrest back on Irisur?”

  “Why did Colonel Malix send us to get you?”

  “And was he right to do so?”

  Fitz’s smile left him, and he looked pensive for a moment. “My ship, my crew, and my wife are all under threat. That’s nothing new, but usually I know why and whom to charm to get us off the hook, and whom to shoot if it comes to that
. This time”– he shrugged – “I’m still piecing it together. And it’s not coming clear fast enough.”

  Sybutu nodded as if the universe had suddenly made sense. “This exercise at the captain’s table is about us helping you to piece your shit together.”

  Zavage almost choked on his beer. For a moment, cracks appeared in Fitz’s mental discipline and Zavage sensed the raging guilt boiling within. Then the crack was repaired and his smile back on his face.

  “Partially,” said Fitz. “These are unsettling times. We need to work together.”

  “You mean as Chimera Company?”

  “So it would seem.”

  “You don’t seem happy about the prospect.”

  “I’m captain of a free trader. Izza and I… We’re like the king and queen of a tiny kingdom of illicit adventure. I like this life. I fought in wars and I’ve saved the Federation. I’ve earned my long early retirement.” He glared at Sybutu. “So forgive me if I’m a little pissed at you and Cisco Malix for dragging me out of it.”

  Bronze chose that moment to make a show of bringing out his best clay pipe and activating its bulb. Everyone was watching as he took his first draw, and Zavage realized the human had effortlessly sucked a big chunk of the tension out of the cabin.

  “My guess,” said Bronze between puffs. “The Federation is a large interstellar civilization. There are 267 full planetary members who are responsible for 1,317 dependencies. That makes for a lot of moving parts rubbing together. That generates heat. Friction. Sometimes gears jam together and then release violently. It’s inevitable, but there’s been a lot of tension in recent years and it’s all coming unstuck simultaneously. Some of this, at least, is by design. I suspect it all is. Someone is grabbing the Federation by the scruff of its neck and giving a damned good shake.”

  Fitz laughed. And then bit his lip. “Nuysp said something similar, that Far Reach needed a good kick to get things moving again. He said he needed to be turfed out to make way for new blood when the change came, but neither of us expected him to be murdered later the same day.”

  The captain choked on the memory. The others looked on in respectful silence as he appeared to come to a decision on what to say next.

  “I used to be in Legion Naval Intelligence,” he said. “The Firm, as we call it. I soon discovered that a faction within the Firm had reached out beyond our organization to like-minded patriots in the world of politics, industry, and the Militia. They felt – we felt – the Federation was on a downward spin it could never pull out of. Apinya Lantosh recruited my best friend, Cisco Malix, then Cisco recruited me.”

  “Does your group have a name?” asked Bronze.

  Fitz laughed. “Operation Redeal. I know… hardly an impenetrable code for a plan to give the Federation a new start. It was a contingency. None of us expected to implement it, and we talked about it as a joke, but deep down we were serious. If things got really bad, we knew we’d have to act.”

  Sybutu growled. “You mean you planned a coup.”

  Fitz sucked in a breath. “I prefer to say that we would demand a redeal. Sounds less ugly, don’t you think?” His flippancy faded, and he added quietly, “Yes, we dreamed up a coup.”

  It was only as he uttered those words of treachery that shock sparked in Sybutu and Bronze’s minds.

  They were too stunned to speak.

  “Operation Redeal was never about seizing power for its own sake. I told myself it was just extreme scenario planning. Wargaming ways to establish strong institutions that would serve the people rather than their own self-interest. To get ourselves back to a galaxy where public service is seen as honorable, not a sign of moral depravation.”

  “We serve the people,” snapped Sybutu.

  “I know,” Fitz replied. “I was Legion too, remember? Despite its many failings, most in the Legion still carry themselves with honor and well-deserved pride in their service. Oh, I’m sure you think of yourselves as the good guys. That the answer is for the Legion to take over and burn the rot out of the Federation, and let it regrow under your protection.”

  “Doesn’t sound bad to me,” said Sybutu.

  “But the Legion would never relinquish control,” sighed Bronze. “That was the point of the Militia – to be our counterbalance. The Legion is set up to win wars against foreign powers, not to rule peaceful planets. Over the years its benign tyranny would shed its decency and it would become a military dictatorship. Never forget, it’s done so before.”

  Sybutu smashed a fist into the table. “I can’t believe I’m hearing this. We’re legionaries.”

  “I was SpecMish,” said Bronze. “I’ve seen what laws the Legion is prepared to ignore to silence its enemies.”

  “How does Kanha Wei fit in?” said Zavage hurriedly, trying to head off the fight between Sybutu and Bronze before it turned physical.

  “She claims to be a part of the Firm and hints that she’s in on Redeal. Her claims are plausible.”

  “Enough with the maybes,” said Bronze. “Give me your working assumption.”

  “Every conspiracy, rebellion, and deep ops team is activating simultaneously. I can only guess why, but I’m certain that something significant is really happening. I think we’ll discover that most or all of these secret groups are coalescing around two cores. We are aligned with Operation Redeal, and the people wanting to capture and kill us in a manner that gives them best advantage, is centered around Department 9 within SpecMish.”

  He looked disapprovingly at Bronze puffing on his clay pipe, filling his cabin with aromas of sweet and spicy synth-bacc.

  “Khallini had deep access within the Legion,” said Bronze.

  “Yes, and with the Panhandler rebels too,” Fitz responded. “I can’t figure him out. He seems to be playing every side at the same time.”

  “Which makes sense to me,” said Sybutu. “Legion First General Clarke was convicted of siding with a foreign power. Lord Khallini could be the same. Provoking civil war to ready the Federation for invasion.”

  Fitz remained silent. “You don’t agree, do you?” Bronze prompted.

  “No,” Fitz admitted. “Something about him doesn’t fit. For a start, Khallini seems intent on maximum outrage with minimum military damage. Here’s an idea – wild, I know – but you asked for my working assumption and this is it. Khallini’s aim is not to destroy the Federation, but to give it the shaking Nuysp talked of. Hateful though it is to be falling foul of this personally, I think from Khallini’s perspective, this unrest is like an inoculation with a live virus. One that will leave the body of the Federation stronger, more resilient to what is about to come.”

  Sybutu sprang to his feet, tipping over his chair as he leaned over the table and pointed a finger in Fitz’s face. “Khallini murdered my friends,” he said, his words as cold as the Rho-Torkis ice plains. He swung his arm to point at the painting of the captain with his wife, two people bound together in obvious affection. “He killed the woman I loved.”

  “I’m sorry for your pain.” Fitz kept his tone and tenor respectful, but this was no apology. “Khallini’s betrayal meant the death of my dear friend, Francisco Malix. I don’t care about Khallini’s agenda. This is personal. I will avenge my friend, but it won’t be easy. The first step along that way is to unite you with what remains of Arunsen and his troopers, because that was what Malix’s ally, Yazzie, wanted to happen. Chimera Company. I can see why Malix would want to write new stories with a team like us.”

  Pipe clamped in his teeth, Bronze righted Sybutu’s seat and eased the sergeant back on. “We lost Yergin and Meatbolt to the Corruption.” He puffed up clouds of synth-bacc. “And I lost many more to this… disease, genetic weapon – whatever it is – on other worlds. Vetch’s Muryani trooper called it the Andromedan Corruption. That could mean a lot of things, and I don’t trust the hairy insects for a moment, but it could be softening up before an attack from the outer rim. For centuries, conspiracy theorists have argued that the only reason the Federation
exists is because the Muryani wanted us here to soak up an attack they feared would one day come from the rim. It doesn’t matter whether we believe that. It matters that powerful people do. I think Khallini does.”

  “Yes, the Corruption,” Fitz agreed. “Whatever that actually is, I can see no connection to either Department 9 or Operation Redeal.”

  “I have another question.” Sybutu leaned back on his chair, arms crossed. “When we were holding out at the pier on Rho-Torkis, waiting for extraction, you had no reason to come back for us, and plenty to stay the hell away. Even your own robot doubted you would return.”

  “I wouldn’t pay heed to Lynx,” said Fitz. “He has trust issues.”

  “I didn’t expect you to come back for us either,” said Bronze. “Why did you?”

  “Because…” Fitz gave a sad little laugh and checked something on his wrist slate. “Because I’m a hero. Don’t like to boast about it, but it’s a thing.”

  “That’s not good enough.” Sybutu scowled. “Remember the conversation we had earlier? You won’t earn our trust by feeding us bullshit like that.”

  “Fine,” Fitz snapped back. “Call it an accounting issue with the Bank of Spiritual Karma. I’m in deep deficit. Gentlemen, don’t let my cool jacket and charm deceive you. I’ve done a lot of bad things, and not always to those like Khallini who thoroughly deserved them. So I play the selfless hero on occasion, and when I do, I like to think my spiritual account receives a healthy boost. It helps me to sleep. It also means I can build up enough credit to do something seriously wicked in the future.”

  Sybutu shook his head. “You’re not as bad as you make out, Fitz.”

  But he was…

  Suddenly, a primitive threat response kicked in, slowing down Zavage’s time perception and intensifying his other senses.

  In slow motion, Fitz was turning his head to face Zavage, wearing a grim expression. His hand had just tapped his wrist slate and was now reaching inside the sleeve of his jacket.