Man, the little guy was fast!
“How long have you known?”
“Since your pack started wriggling a hundred yards after we set off from the hideout,” said Lily. “Who knew our grumpy old bookworm was such a sweetie?”
“Stow it,” Darant growled. “I’ve grown to like fresh milk in my coffee, that’s all. Only way I could figure how to do that was to bring a supply with me.”
“You know, Yat,” said Vetch stroking his beard thoughtfully, “on some planets you could legally adopt Hubert. You should look into it.”
“That goat will be in a pie long before we get off this mudhole planet,” Darant retorted. “Sooner if you don’t stop ragging me. Now shut your giggling, you goddamned clowns, and keep alert.”
“Shepherd sent us,” said Enthree.
“What?” Vetch frowned at the Muryani who’d stopped hacking away at the foliage. “I know. What’s your point?”
“I wasn’t addressing you, Mr. Arunsen.”
With a sinking feeling, Vetch realized everyone else was looking up. He followed suit and saw the leaves bristling with rifle barrels pointed their way.
The rebel fighters soon had them on their knees in the mud, hands on heads, while their leader inspected them.
Works both ways, my friends, thought Vetch, as he assessed their captors.
They were armed with a random selection of rifles, pistols and even a crossbow, most of which were sports models. Half of them carried their weapons as if they were an extension of their body, while the rest held them awkwardly as if they were armed with screaming infants.
Their heads were wrapped in folds of light gauzy material that revealed only their eyes and noses. Dull reds and greens were the dominant colors in the tough material of their plain jackets and pants. None of them wore camo. In fact, they didn’t look like an army so much as a mob of desperate farmers off to rob a grain store.
The leader, a male Gliesan, stared into Vetch’s face before giving a satisfied nod and moving onto Lily.
He gave her a good look and a sniff. “Forgive me,” he told her.
What the hell kind of desperado rebel says forgive me?
The Gliesan wiped one of his delicate-boned fingers across Lily’s cheek, and then traced the spikey black lines that curled out the corner of her eyes.
Lily took it stoically until he removed his touch and inspected his fingertip.
“It doesn’t rub off, you know,” she sneered at him. “It’s called a tattoo. What the hell were you expecting?”
For several seconds, he contemplated her.
“Roses,” he said and gestured to his soldiers to bind their captives. “And you ain’t got ’em.”
LILY HJON
The interrogation room was a small grain store in a village clearing by a fast-flowing stream. Bags of food supplies were neatly stacked on one side, but the other half of the climate-controlled building had been made over into an operations room with printed local maps on the wall above a bank of comms equipment.
A human rebel in camo and beret, who actually did look like a soldier, beckoned Lily forward, motioning for Vetch and Darant to stay back with the grain bags. The man remained expressionless behind one of the face flaps that had been commonplace at their last hideout.
Back in the jungle, the rebels had bound their wrists behind them, but they hadn’t known what to do with a Muryani. Currently, Enthree was waiting outside, with a half dozen weapons pointed at her.
Lily took a few steps toward the man who stood in front of a battered plastic table strewn with paper, more maps, and unwashed coffee mugs.
On the far side of the table, another man regarded the prisoners from the depths of a leather chair shrouded in cigar smoke. He was quite the contrast to the soldier, dressed in tattered red boiler coveralls. Instead of hood, beret or wrapped fabric, his head was covered by a trucker’s cap, its peak pulled low over his eyes. A corporate logo was emblazoned on the front above the words Bori-Alice Space Truckin’.
The soldier man squared himself up. “They’re undamaged, sir. As ordered.”
Lily was convinced the two men were about to exchange salutes, but it turned out these rebels weren’t Legion wannabees. The leader blew a smoke ring at his subordinate, and then tipped his chair back against the wall so he could put his feet up on the desk.
Something about that looked familiar…
“We’ll help you win your revolution,” she told the smoking man, “but if you’re not interested in joining us, then feed us and let us go. We’ve people to find offworld. Stuff to do. You know how it is.”
“We join you?” said the soldier, incredulous.
“Lily’s not joking either,” said his leader. He lifted his cap and leaned forward out of the smoke to regard her through twinkling lilac eyes.
“Oh!” she said.
“What?” Fitz echoed her astonishment for a moment before nodding sagely. “Oh, I see. Yes, the sight must be quite a shock for you.” He held out his cigar. It was almost half the length of Lily’s forearm. “Filthy habit I’m revisiting from my youth. Izza would kill me if she ever found out. Not that she ever will.”
“Fitz. What are you doing here as a rebel leader?”
“Waiting for you.” His grin dissipated. “I gather our Muryani friend is waiting outside, but…” He grimaced. “I don’t see Mr. Sward.”
“Didn’t make it,” grunted Vetch from behind her.
“I’m sorry.” Fitz waved at his people to start undoing the captives’ bonds. “I mean no disrespect to your absent friend, but it gladdens my heart to see the rest of you here and safe. I’ve been leaving threads for simply ages, hoping that you’d pick one up and follow it to me. I’d almost abandoned hope that you’d make it here in time.”
Freed at last, Lily rubbed at her chafed wrists and allowed Vetch to storm over to the table and lean his bulk over it.
“What the hell are you doing here, Fitzwilliam?”
“Mr. Arunsen, please call me Fitz. Or Captain Fitz if you require formality like a damned jack. Speaking of which, Sybutu and his two little jack friends are not far from here. They’re safe but all their talk of ‘I swore an oath to the Legion’ has yet to convince the fine people who brought you here that they’re on the same side. As for me…” He puffed on his cigar. “A little misunderstanding led to me being marooned here by my own crew. And now…”
Fitz’s eyes blazed with violet light.
“I find I don’t like the way the people here run their world,” he said. He kept his voice level, but it filled with the power of a fusion generator about to blow its containment field. “I don’t like it at all.”
Lily had never seen him truly angry before. The other rebel soldier recoiled in disgust from mutant eyes like nebulae glowing in the warmth of newly born stars, but what did he know? Fitz’s freakish eyes were awesome!
“I’m going to tear down the tyrant, In’Nalla. Rip out their sick system of inform-on-your-neighbor. Dismiss the Churn. And did you know that humiliation is a major export industry? People across the Federation are shipped here as a lesson to those at home. A lesson on what happens if you upset the powerful. All that has to go.”
“And you’re what?” Lily asked, a little breathless. “The big cheese in this rebel outfit?”
Fitz grinned and the anger was gone. No, not gone. Concealed within, but passion still drove him.
Hold on! Rewind… What was it he’d said about his wife?
“I’m working on it,” he replied. “I’m a senior zone advisor for now and with big plans to get this revolution moving.”
“You said we got here just in time,” said Darant. “In time for what?”
Fitz got out from behind the desk and walked over to Darant, cigar clamped between his teeth.
He choked on its smoke halfway over, coughed a little, but quickly recovered to slap Darant heartily on the back.
“We’re going to free the political prisoners at In’Nalla’s flagship house
of tortures. The Ameliorate-10 Re-Education Camp. A-10. It’s 80 klicks northwest of here. We’re going to bust it open and you, my fine friends, are going to help me do it.”
Darant punched the air. “Screw the system! Let’s tear it down and start again. When do we go?”
“You have a day to rest, learn, and train with these excellent local people. Then we head out. Then it starts.”
DEROH REN KAY
The comm chimed on his way to the parade ground.
Ren Kay clicked his teeth in irritation. The tension between Major Lyssin and the tyrant notwithstanding, it was the opening of the Global Economic Forum tomorrow, and Ren Kay was leading the honor guard. His troopers would look as smart and well-disciplined as any legionary, damnit.
It was a text message from Singh: Tried to raise you earlier. Nothing urgent. Call me tonight?
His heart skipped a beat.
Ren Kay was always very aware of his surroundings at all times and knew no one was around. He unlocked the door to a nearby tertiary armory and quickly stepped inside before that changed.
The message was code. Singh had urgent news.
Ren Kay keyed his comm to a non-standard channel that used Department 9 encryption. “What do you have for me, Singh?”
“Remember Lyssin had you chasing through farmyard muck looking for those Militia deserters?”
He rolled his eyes. Lyssin’s determination to bring in the bounty on those troopers’ heads had been an enormous distraction when Ren Kay had far more important matters to organize. “Of course I do.”
“Data digging turned something up. The police double agent gave the deserters a flock of basten goats to tend as cover. I think the deserters got lonely and treated the animals as pets.”
“Get to the point.”
“Sorry, sir. The goats were chipped. All but one was destroyed, but that one… It’s just turned up 200 klicks to the east in the middle of the rebel force concentration near my position. The chip says it’s alive and well.”
“I think you’re right. Our deserters have an unhealthy liking for Zhoogene goats.” He laughed. “Luckily for us.” He thought a moment. These individuals were Major Lyssin’s most wanted, so offering them up could win his favor. On the other hand, the department had its own reasons for keeping tabs on these troopers, and an even greater reason to keep Lyssin well away from Zone-41. “Good work, Singh. These individuals are suspected Naval Intelligence assets, but so’s half the Federation. Track them, but don’t contact me again on a high priority call. I’ve more urgent matters.”
“Wait, sir! Surveillance is still trying to ID the deserters, but in looking for them, someone of much greater interest showed up. Tavistock Fitzwilliam! He appears to be a part of the RevRec forces we suspect are concentrating for an attack on A-10.”
“Fitzwilliam is part of the Revolutionary Forces of Reconciliation? But that’s… perfect! Do you believe in fate, Singh?”
“Sometimes,” the agent replied cautiously.
Ren Kay didn’t blame his reticence. Strong religious affiliation was frowned upon by the department. It could lead to unfortunate conflicts of interests, and Department 9 could only succeed if it commanded its operatives’ absolute loyalty in all matters. The future of the Federation depended on that.
“Let me rephrase that a better way. The Human Marine Corps of the Orion Era had a saying: when you see an opening, seize it with all six limbs.”
“Six, sir?”
“It was a Jotun saying, most likely. But it’s one I follow. Don’t let Fitzwilliam slip away. I’m coming over in person to lead the department’s operations in Zone-41. When the histories of the Federation’s restoration are written, the events over the next few days will be the start of a new volume. This is where it kicks off, Singh. The shit is about to get real.”
“And if an opportunity presents itself to eliminate Fitzwilliam and the other targets?”
“Singh, you’d done so well. Don’t disappoint me now. You kill them, of course.”
NEXT ISSUE: Assault on A-10!
ISSUE 7
YAT DARANT
“Now we’re talking!” Darant roared his encouragement as the rest of the crowd descended into a slow clap.
Twenty paces from the flames, the first fire jumper flexed like a professional high jumper. Then he started his run up.
“Five credits says he’ll bottle it,” Darant yelled at the green-haired girl perched on another rough log seat, ten feet away.
She shifted 90 degrees to face him, sitting astride the log. “You’re in.”
Idrielle. Her name was something like Idrielle. To be honest, Darant had quaffed too much of the local beer to be sure. Or to care.
The fire runner accelerated along ground strewn with soaking wet straw, cheered by the mix of villagers and rebel soldiers billeted there overnight. But Darant wasn’t watching. He was engrossed in the flames reflected in Idrielle’s eyes.
She wasn’t watching the jumper either. Her gaze was drinking Darant in and blazing with heat that wasn’t only coming from the fire.
Or was that the beer talking?
No, Darant was sure it wasn’t. These rebels were giddy with the terrifying thrill of making the attack on the A-10 concentration camp. At dawn they would set off for a forced march through the forest to their deployment zones. But tonight, they had thrown off their mouth masks and coverings.
In solidarity, the villagers had not only done the same but…
Huzzah!
… by Orion’s balls, these mad bastards were jumping over fires. For fun! The first was safely over, and plenty more were lining up for their turn.
Idrielle sauntered over and sat next to him, real snug like.
“Pay up!” she demanded.
Chuckling, Darant felt in his pouch for five credit chips. He hadn’t doubted the jumper would successfully make his leap. It must take balls like asteroids to jump over waist-high flames, but it wasn’t a difficult leap. No, this was a bet he’d been happy to lose.
Local men, with their heads bared, threw a few more logs on the jumping fire, making it sizzle and the crowd roar. The next jumper’s leap would be just that bit more perilous.
Darant held out the credits in his palm and felt an unexpected pang of regret.
Five federal credits. That was a lot in these parts. Maybe a month’s income.
Was he being too flash with his money?
Idrielle placed her hand over his coins and raised an eyebrow. “The next jumper looks hesitant,” she said.
Darant snatched a look. She was right. The jumper was grim faced. Doubting…
“Let’s make this more interesting,” she said. “Double or quits?”
“Err…” Darant sucked in a smoky breath. Ten credits was a lot. What if he won and cleaned the girl out?
In Darant’s universe, money was like the weather in a temperate zone. You enjoyed the sunny spells of plenty, and you hunkered down and survived the bleak periods of poverty. Trying to control your financial situation was as dumb as trying to control the weather, and it would make you miserable to even try.
At the moment, the gods of plenty were shining on Darant.
Back when he’d briefly been a prison guard in the capital, Darant had quickly latched onto Sergeant Detennigen as someone with a suspicious air about him. Following Detennigen one day had led Darant to a large stash of small denomination chips buried beneath a loose stone in a cell that never seemed to house a prisoner. Darant had been overcome by a sudden duty of care to his fellow troopers, which in the case of Detennigen meant relieving the rogue of a good chunk of his booty, purely in order to salve the sergeant’s conscience. After all, the guard sergeant’s treasure was surely ill gotten, and its possession a burden of guilt on the poor fellow.
Darant laughed at the irony. He was now a fighter for the Revolutionary Forces of Reconciliation. Fitz had explained that RevRec’s idea of reconciliation wasn’t to sit down with a cup of coffee and talk things over with In�
�Nalla and the gang of tyrants who had screwed up this planet. To this bunch, reconciliation would come about through firing squads that would be very busy when In’Nalla fell.
And here he was, somehow caught up in an old-fashioned people’s revolution, when secluded about his clothes, his person, and his belongings, were enough credits to make him ever-so-slightly rich.
“Well?” Idrielle demanded.
“I was just thinking. Ten credits? Are you sure?”
Her face fell. “Oh, you don’t think I can pay.”
“No, no. It’s not that–”
She threw him a devilish grin. “I don’t have ten credits,” she said. “If I lose, we’ll just have to think of another way I can pay.”
Darant swallowed awkwardly.
Sod Vetch and Lily, he decided. They can moan about Eiylah-Bremah all they want. I like it here.
“Double or quits it is,” he said. “You’re my kind of people, Idrielle.”
She looked askance. “Istrielle,” she corrected, but smiled. “I guess it’s close enough for an ignorant off-worlder.”
The crowd’s rising excitement pulled Darant’s attention back to the jumper, who hesitated halfway along his approach run, but made his leap over the fire to the delight of the cheering crowd.
But by then, Darant and Istrielle had already moved on.
——
Her lips tasted of cider and the eagerness of wanting much more, but not having much time to enjoy it.
In fact, the enthusiasm with which Istrielle mashed her lips against Darant’s, and the way she kept grabbing his ass cheek like it was an emergency pull cord, made him pause a moment.
She wasn’t used to this, he realized.
It hadn’t felt that way to him back at the fire, but now he thought on it, in a world where everyone crapped themselves at the thought of speaking to other people, it probably made flirting an extreme sport for danger junkies only.
She released her pinch grip on his ass and squeezed his shoulders instead, staring into his eyes as she pushed him gently back against the outer wall of the hut.
Chimera Company Season 2 - Deep Cover Page 26