“This is Sentinel-4. We’ve eyes on another infantry column. Just coming into view. Can’t tell numbers yet.”
“Thank you,” said Fitz. “All Sentinel callsigns, this is Trucker. Do not engage. Keep to the shadows and stand by.”
Fitz keyed a second comm system, distinct from the RevRec one. “Are we winning yet?”
“We have the old witch under arrest,” Lily reported, “but I don’t like the crowd out there. It’s a mob seething with anger. It’s like a caged beast, unpredictable and dangerous.”
“EB-Link is declaring a legally binding confidence vote in In’Nalla,” said Zavage. “It’s calling it the Court of Public Opinion. It’s been made to look spontaneous, but it’s actually been set up by Sonep Mediaforce, who we assume are in In’Nalla’s pocket.”
“Court of Public Opinion?” Fitz queried. “What the hell does that mean?”
“I don’t know,” said Zavage. “We’ll get back to you.”
“Make sure you do. I don’t like the sound of it. We are redeploying early to the Horne Lane Tram Station, just off Execution Square. Estimate ten mikes to get there. If you need me, I’ll be at the station café enjoying an iced tea.”
“What do we do?” asked Lily. “Wait to be brought down by the mob?”
“Lily, hang tight. Strategic victory conditions for you are to let Sybutu take In’Nalla away and control her. If conditions get too hot for you, evac and meet us at the station.”
Fitz heard the rumble of motor engines approaching from the north and, a little quieter, to the east.
“We’re still on course for victory. Stay cool everyone. Fitz out.” He rekeyed the RevRec channel. “All call signs. Beat feet. Avoid contact and reform at Horne Lane. Last one there buys the drinks.”
Fitz and the RevRec forces abandoned the street, heading south. The Panhandlers watched them go, but weren’t under orders to fire on their allies who’d fought side by side with them minutes earlier.
Once they were safely out of the fire zone, Fitz stopped and sighed happily.
Didn’t think we’d out double cross you, didja Gzeiter?
A few moments’ later he heard the first gunfire exchanged between the Militia and the Panhandlers.
“General Gzeiter meet Major Lyssin. Lyssin meet Gzeiter. You deserve each other.”
“Trucker,” called one of his RevRec aides, “it’s not safe. We can’t afford to get cut off.”
“And I can’t afford the drinks bill if we get there last. Come on, lieutenant. Move it!”
REVERED LEADER IN’NALLA.
The optics were perfect.
The two hover fliers sat there in the air, a brutal occupation force with their powerful guns sweeping the stage, itching to be freed and pour death onto the brave innocents who would not yield.
The two who had dismounted – the Viking and the killer – looked more uncomfortable with every second, glancing nervously at the crowd. Even her bodyguard had come to and interposed himself between the two rebel would-be assassins and his ward.
Never mind that for a team of ruthless assassins, the rebels were surprisingly eager not to hurt anyone. Never mind too that Sanderson, who was supposed to protect her with his life, had lasted scant seconds before being shocked unconscious, because he was performing a valuable service for her now. He was demonstrating to the crowd that despite In’Nalla holding herself with more dignity than any of the other players on the stage, she nonetheless required protection from her opponents’ crude physical threats.
And where Sanderson led, the crowd might follow.
When the big screens around the square had been hacked to loop through her unfortunate comments that seemed to reveal her as a dread Communist, the crowd had first been stunned into silence before shifting their attention to EB-Link’s group mind. But now they were beginning to harden their opinions. Angry shouting matches were breaking out. There were several attempts to chant her name, though they quickly petered out for now.
Revving engines announced a new player in this act, one that would swing it decisively towards In’Nalla.
A fat-wheeled armored vehicle tried to enter from Procession Street, but the angry crowd wouldn’t allow it entry.
This wasn’t a rebel fighting vehicle – this was the danger zone mobile news reporting studio from Sonep News, and it was going to be her key to victory in this coup attempt.
“Let it through,” she told the crowd. “They’re press corps. Let them through.” She sneered, marveling at how the inept rebels had allowed her continued access to the mic. Quickly, she transformed the sneer into a smile, easing back into the role she was playing of innocent victim.
The rebels appeared to realize their mistake, because the big one with the war hammer hustled her away from the mic – she exaggerated his intervention, half falling as if shoved hard – and spoke through the PA system. “You, in the armored car. No sudden moves. And if you make any attempt to cross the blast shield, we will destroy you.”
This time, In’Nalla couldn’t help herself. She sneered openly. With her foes doing everything in their power to hand her victory in the battle of public perception, anyone would have gloated.
As the car edged into the square and progressed inch by inch toward the stage, a hush came over the crowd when the screens blanked. Unseen, a cyber battle raged for their control, a clash won by Sonep Media from their armored news wagon.
Seconds later, the screens came alive again with simple text.
Court of Public Opinion: official judgement.
“Do you stand with In’Nalla?”
(Yes / no).
Time to decision: 58:24.
As the clock ticked down, a graphic appeared below the question EB-Link was posing to its netizens.
Currently, she was losing the confidence vote with a difference of -10 percent.
But with any luck, her media forces would be rallying forces.
-8 percent.
-7.
The Court of Public Opinion was an institution so well entrenched by the time In’Nalla took power that even she hadn’t dared to interfere. She was glad now.
-6 percent.
She would win this. And her victory would be an entirely legitimate mandate. The revolution had risked all and moved too soon.
Or had it?
The balance stuck at -6 percent.
The Viking was still pulling at his beard, but his friend, the killer, leered at her.
“Sanderson,” she said softly, “I need to get inside the news car.”
“Just try it,” said the killer, aiming his blaster at her.
Sanderson sprang into action, grabbing the barrel aimed at her and pushing it away.
The killer launched a rib-cracking kick at her bodyguard that threw him off and sent him rolling across the stage.
“Should have killed the bitch from the start,” said the rebel, aiming at her once more and squeezing the trigger.
The final fractions of a second wound slowly for In’Nalla, as if to punish her by drawing out the realization that it was she who had miscalculated at the end. So close… But she would die, killed by a nobody firing a generic blaster rifle.
The crowd screamed.
Which was a strange thing to be hearing when she should be dead.
She finally noticed the flexible disc Sanderson had placed over the weapon’s barrel. The blaster’s status lights had gone out, and the rebel was working the trigger uselessly on his dead piece of hardware.
Sanderson, meanwhile, had re-entered the fray, two oversized handguns out and aimed at the rebels on the stage.
The Viking lifted his war hammer.
“Easy, apeman,” warned Sanderson. “We’re just going inside the car. Your GACs can always blast us if you want to.”
By ‘GACs’, In’Nalla assumed Sanderson was referring to the two aircraft who’d reoriented to point their nose cannons directly at him… and her standing behind him.
There was nothing she could do about them fo
r now, so she unlatched a segment of the blast shield and walked through to the cheers of the crowd.
“Let me in the car,” she said, and the crowd obeyed, lifting her down and allowing passage for her and her protector, Sanderson.
The crowd, she hoped, would be a better form of cover than the armor plating of the news car. If the aircraft were to attack, they would have to kill civilians first before getting to her, and she didn’t think they would do that. Meanwhile, from the cover of the car, she could marshal her forces to win the cyber battle for the Court of Public Opinion.
The news wagon’s rear hatch opened for them. It was the only apparent means of entry. Three humans, and a Zhoogene were working inside, surrounded by holographic screens. She guessed the Gliesan who’d opened the hatch was also the driver because she could see through to the empty cab.
“Is the interior shielded from outside surveillance?”
“Yes, ma’am,” replied the Zhoogene woman who ceased her typing and swiveled her chair around to face her elected leader. “It’s one-directional too. Our privacy is locked down so tightly, we’re practically in our own pocket universe here, and yet our own signals can still get out.”
“Perfect,” said In’Nalla. “Leave us. Move!”
“But…” started the Zhoogene, who swiveled her chair round again to face her colleagues. They were equally perplexed.
Sanderson moved in and hauled the Gliesan out.
“The Revered Leader gave you an order,” he bellowed, jumping inside and advancing on the Zhoogene. “She thanks you for your valuable assistance,” – he grabbed her by the shoulders – “and asks that you get the fuck out of the wagon!”
The Sonep staff scrambled to get away from the growling bodyguard who shut the hatch behind them with a solid clang and a hiss of pressure seals.
As soon as they were sealed in, In’Nalla contacted Ren Kay.
“Revered Leader,” said the Zhoogene, who was wearing his Militia uniform, his face heavily shadowed into shades of deep woodland moss. “You’ve made an interesting move. Do you think isolating yourself in that vehicle will help?”
“Isolating?” She laughed. “On the contrary, this is where I marshal my forces of persuasion to counterattack. Starting with you. How close are you to concluding…” – she glanced suspiciously at Sanderson, who was staring right at her – “to implementing that matter we discussed?”
“Close.”
“Make it closer! This is the critical moment where I stand or fall. I need it now. Within minutes, or you will abort and get the hell off my planet. Can you deliver?”
He checked something out of her sight before replying. “I concur, Revered Leader. This matter is approaching its climax, and the Blue Chamber needs to secure its assets.”
“Assets! I’m not a damned asset. Answer me clearly, Ren Kay. Can you deliver or not?”
“Ma’am we have been ready for some time. Given the enormity of what we’re about to unleash, we’ve been waiting to see how the cards fell before acting. You know how it is. Standby and check news feeds. I guarantee that within minutes, the whole planet will be fixated on the…” – he grinned – “matter we discussed.”
TAVISTOCK FITZWILLIAM
“I don’t know what’s happening in Execution Square, but I don’t like it.” Q’Uatiere narrowed her eyes at Fitz, clearly thinking he should be running around shooting at people, and not kicking back on a chair in the tram station café. “Isn’t it time to bring in Commander Slinh?”
Fitz couldn’t blame her. She was only voicing the concern all his command team were feeling. Hell, that he was feeling too. Sybutu had just gone off grid and that was not good.
“Don’t let the cool jacket and cup of coffee fool you,” he explained. “I’m monitoring the situation closely. Slinh’s Reserve Brigade is too small to take the city. The moment her unit moves in, it will become a catalyst. If the people are already turning against In’Nalla, then armed citizens will flock to Slinh’s side. If they’re still undecided, then it will be Slinh’s appearance that will unite the people against her ‘invading army’, and we will have lost. We need to give the cyber nerds a few more moments.”
He took a sip of his coffee before keying in his Chimera team.
“Basement Ops, tell me some good news.”
“Can’t, Captain,” Zavage answered. “Even with the three main media shapers offline, there’s still a lot left to take the lead from Sonep News, and they’re coming full force behind the tyrant now. They’re claiming Vetch’s team slaughtered hundreds of citizens in seizing In’Nalla. There’s fake footage gone viral in the last few seconds that shows you in your Bori-Alice hat overseeing mass firing squad executions in front of the university.”
“Aren’t there people at the university to prove otherwise?”
“Oh, sure. But people will ignore the truth even if it slaps them in the face like a kiss from Vetch’s hammer. They only hear what confirms the opinions they’ve already formed. This EB-Link plebiscite is going her way. Positive six percent say they stand with In’Nalla and rising fast. We’ve lost, Captain. Time to exfil.”
“Understood. Stay on the line while I key in the hammer lover. Vetch, any sign of Sybutu?”
“Negative. He’s still inside the news wagon. I don’t like to leave him, but his cover appears intact. This crowd’s going to boil over any moment. Either we bring in Slinh and go for the military option, or we abort. Now.”
A comm chime warned Fitz that Gzeiter was trying to raise him.
“Wait two mikes,” he told his Chimera team, while he reactivated his half-smoked cigar and then accepted the link to Gzeiter.
“Where the hell are you?” yelled the Panhandler general.
Fitz blew a smoke ring at the General’s image in his wrist slate. The poor man had gone rather red in the face.
“Stop playing games, man.” The general was controlling his anger better now. “I have the best propaganda team on the planet at hand in the basement of Forefront Corporations HQ, but the Militia attackers are jamming me, and they’ve cut the cable link. You have to reconnect us, or all will be lost.”
“Roger that, General,” Fitz replied and took a sip of coffee. “Unfortunately, we appear to be bogged down in heavy fighting. We are attempting to break out to your position.”
Gzeiter mashed his brows together into an angry frown. Behind Fitz, the backdrop of the Horne Street Station café should be clear enough on the vid-link.
“Are you with me or not?” Gzeiter asked.
“Of course. I’m sorry to have lied, but I panicked. The truth is, you caught me on my coffee break.”
“Trucker! It’s vital that we get our message out. The revolution cannot proceed to victory otherwise.”
“Cannot proceed to your victory. That’s what you mean.”
Basement Ops sent a message that scrolled along the bottom of Fitz’s slate: New anti-In’Nalla message going viral. Unknown origin.
Now that was interesting. It couldn’t be anything to do with the general.
“I knew you were a problem from the start,” said Gzeiter. “You’re an agent provocateur. A legionary. What are you, Special Missions?”
“Oh, SpecMish have had their fingers in this world for a while now. Probably longer than you have, Panhandler. But, no, General Gzeiter. I represent the interests of the Outer Torellian Commerce Guild.” He winked at his astonished command team to make that seem like a joke, several were very impressed, though, as if this admission explained a whole lot of madness.
“The damned Smugglers Guild?” Gzeiter sputtered.
“Tut-tut, Gzeiter. That’s a federal speech crime, don’t you know? Careless talk can be very dangerous on this world.”
He severed the link and rekeyed for the Chimera channel.
“Basement Ops, speak to me…”
REVERED LEADER IN’NALLA
“Who do you want to run your world?” asked In’Nalla, the auto-studio in the news wagon relaying her ques
tion to the screens outside in the square, and to EB-Link across the star system. “Me? Or off-world mercenaries with an off-world agenda?”
In’Nalla!
In’Nalla!
The chant filled the square.
Again! She moved by habit to contact Asher to fix her situation, forgetting who had betrayed her.
A screen beside her showed the Court of Public Opinion had now swung thirty percent in her favor. Even the two rebels on the stage had climbed back into their fliers and were about to brave the concentrated fire from thousands of angry citizens in the square. Already a few were taking potshots from upper floors of the surrounding buildings.
The only way for her to lose now was for the fliers to completely change tactic and try to blast the armored news wagon to slag. Everything they had done had been about winning public support, and some of her most loyal supporters were clinging to the hull of the wagon as a living shield. She didn’t think the GACs were a danger.
It was time to arrange the pursuit and destruction of her enemies.
Starting with Blayde Asher…
She froze momentarily.
Asher… that turncoat worm had recruited Sanderson. Was the big man part of her plot? The evidence was inconclusive. He may be entirely innocent of treachery, but that wasn’t a chance she could take.
“Sanderson,” she said as calmly as she could, while reaching into her jacket for her concealed needle pistol, “as soon as those fliers leave, I’m going to exit the wagon. You will leave first to check the way–”
In’Nalla never intended to complete her sentence.
She utilized years of drills for this scenario to draw her weapon, flick off the safety, and aim.
Sanderson was already dodging sideways and throwing a pistol at her.
Her shot went wide, sending a double puff of smoke out of a processor stack in the bulkhead rack.
Then Sanderson’s pistol barrel smacked a stinging blow against her temple that made her see flashes for a couple of seconds.
Chimera Company Season 2 - Deep Cover Page 40