“You appeared on very good terms with them,” Lily whispered.
“I was speaking with Sub-Commander Rea Konestogga. She is a good person. Most of the police personnel are. It is when they arrive with Militia troopers that you know you are about to be plundered. Nonetheless, she defends a repressive dictatorship and must be destroyed.”
This distant cousin of Carnolin Idoh said nothing more to her, preferring to speak comforting nonsense to her pigs instead. Lily couldn’t even remember the woman’s real name. Carnolin did mention it once, before she was smuggled away to a safer place.
“The sub-commander was worried about me.”
“Oh, we’re talking again are we?”
“She said desperadoes were in the area. Militia deserters. She gave me a description of a bearded giant, a Muryani, and a tattooed human female.”
“You see the circus I’m forced to travel around with?” said Darant, choosing that moment to open the gate and walk bold as an emperor into the pig enclosure.
“Where the hell have…?” Lily started, but saw the two boxy items Darant was carrying under each arm and pivoted her question. “What are they?”
“High power fuel cells.” He stopped beside Lily’s trailer, looking pleased with himself.
“But you already got power banks. I found them under a bush.”
“Can’t hurt to have more.” He squatted down to give Lily a quizzical look. “I took them out of the police trucks. Relax, they weren’t using them. Just spares.”
Idiot!
They were supposed to be lying low and learning to blend in.
All through his performance, Darant had ignored the Zhoogene. Lily didn’t know what was between them, but they hadn’t gotten along from the start.
Farmhouse Control took four steps toward the human with the stolen police equipment. For a moment, she looked impassively at him out of her green, alien face. Then she blinked her yellow eyes.
That was all. But coming from someone on this messed up world of cagey paranoia, her reaction was like shrieking in rage and tearing out the shoots on her head.
“It is time you moved on,” said the Zhoogene. “Shepherd will be making his rounds about now, and he often comes in the wake of the police.”
When she didn’t offer any elaboration, Lily got out from under the trailer and dusted herself down. “Shepherd?” she asked. “Who’s that?”
The alien gave a yellow blink. “You’ll see.”
VETCH ARUNSEN
The man strode the paths at the edge of the fields, keeping to the most visible routes and taking care not to damage the crops, even when that meant backtracking and taking a detour when the path he was following was blocked by purple-stemmed rows of young bragdy beans. He wasn’t headed directly to the hideout, but his path passed less than a klick to the north, which didn’t feel like a coincidence.
Vetch tracked his movement through the scope he’d detached from his PPR3 before abandoning his rifle to flee the city. Beneath a brown traveling cloak, the guy wore tough green camo gear, stout boots and gaiters. The wide-brimmed leather relic-hunter hat topped off the man’s ensemble, making him look like a tourist.
Reconnect with your soul on a 12-Planets walking vacation.
It’s all about the journey…
Yeah, Vetch remembered the dumb adverts that had been shut down when too many people had tried reconnecting with life by traipsing through combat zones, and promptly winding up dead.
Vetch laughed when the scope overlaid a targeting reticle over the man. Connecting with a blaster bolt would be just about right for a 12-Planets vacation walker.
Could he be a genuine backpacker, though?
Flicking off the targeting overlay, Vetch took a closer look at the man’s face. He was in his fifties, perhaps, with a neat white beard that followed the lower jawline, partially concealing a red-and-white knotted neckerchief – the colors of the Panhandlers. His lips curled up ever so slightly.
This was a man caught in a permanent half-sneer. Someone who looked upon his fellow citizens of the galaxy and knew that he was the one with the right answers. Vetch hated his guts already.
Yeah, this could be a rebel recruiter all right. He looked more convincing than the Zhoogene farm girl, but maybe that was just Vetch relating more easily to another human.
Vetch flicked the targeting overlay back on and wished he had the rest of his rifle with it. But what good would it do to take out one more rebel? The only future Vetch could offer his people was to hide out like frustrated rats, until they were eventually captured and tested against the fabled torturers of Eiylah-Bremah. They needed to get off-world quickly to go looking for Green Fish, and then team up with the rest of those Chimera Company assholes. Maybe this smug bastard in the brimmed hat could help them do it – unwillingly, of course.
But, still… siding with the rebels.
He tugged at his beard.
For years, he’d made allowances for the failures of the Militia. And of the Federation as a whole. He rarely admitted that, even to himself, but he wasn’t a total fool. He knew what a hot mess Far Reach had come. Thank goodness the original Exiles were long since dead. He wouldn’t have wanted them to see how badly their descendants had failed them.
This man in the fields… Despite what he probably thought, he wasn’t going to solve any of the galaxy’s problems. But he might lead to someone who could.
Vetch broke cover and jogged off to intercept.
YAT DARANT
“Eugh!”
Hubert froze, the cute alien goat startled by Lily spitting out her whiskey-scotch.
“What’s the matter, Lil’? Not used to a drink with bite?”
Lily shot Darant a ten-megawatt glare that lit up the hideout they’d dug into the side of a wooded hill. “Whatever the hell kind of putrid rocket fuel you made us drink, it’s not sodding whiskey. What’s wrong with you?”
Shepherd laughed. That condescending fake laugh that made Darant want to ram the plastic whiskey bottle down the man’s throat and watch his eyes go wide as he suffocated. “It is rather an acquired taste, isn’t it? But quite agreeable if you stick with it.”
Vetch growled into his beard.
“No, really.” Shepherd poured another tot of the orange liquid Darant had bartered from the roadside trader – allegedly a form of whiskey – into his tiny metal cup. He held the dented thing in a pinch grip, wafted its aroma into his nose like an ancient Littorane high priest divining the hidden paths of the universe, and knocked it back.
However, Shepherd was too cultured to do anything so coarse as to drink the stuff. Not immediately, at any rate. First came the noisy business of slurping whiskey through his teeth and lapping it up against the roof of his mouth. Only then did he gulp it down.
“Like a ripe cheese,” he declared. “Yes, I’m definitely getting cheesy carboxylic from the breakdown of the high-protein rye.”
Lily shook her head. “The only cheese I’m smelling is the stink from Darant. Dirty bastard hasn’t washed since we were sent to this planet.”
“What the…” Darant dried up instead of snapping back that he was the most fastidiously clean of all three humans. Must be the whiskey muzzing his head, but only then did he realize that Lily hadn’t just been acting weird since Vetch brought in Shepherd that afternoon. She was acting weird for a reason.
“What the hell makes you think it’s a good use of my time to wash between my toes every day?” He shot a warning look at Enthree. “My feet don’t rot, and I’ve got better things to do with my valuable time.”
Enthree tilted her head, puzzled, but leveled it again when she figured out that the humans were lying on purpose again, and would probably explain why in good time.
Join the back of the line, mused Darant. Why the hell are we acting dumb on cue today, Lil’?
Enthree resisted the powerful temptation to point out that she and Darant were strong advocates for foot hygiene, and allowed Shepherd to stew in his own smugnes
s.
“Shut up the pair of you,” Vetch snapped. “We need to fit in to local culture and customs. Hence you will drink the local liquor, and you will damned well enjoy it.”
“Yes, sir, General Arunsen, sir.” Darant gave Vetch a Legion-style salute.
“Asshole,” said the Viking.
“Bite me,” Darant replied, and then whistled.
Hubert knew that sound. The basten goat turned and raced across the dirt floor to his favorite human friend, using the stiff-legged turtle gait that made Darant chuckle. He leaped into the human’s arms and pressed a hot nose to his cheek, licking the underside of his jaw.
“I know you love me, pal. I like you too. That’s why Uncle Vetch said I have to give you a present.”
“I think the little fellow likes to lick the salt from your skin rather than enjoys your company,” said Shepherd. “Nonetheless, I find it fascinating to see a bond of trust between an animal native to Zhooge in the Perseus Arm–”
“And an animal native to the dockside gutters of Earth,” said Lily. She mussed Hubert’s furry head. “Hey, fella. Didn’t your mother warn you about mixing with bad sorts like Darant?”
“The little guy is learning to live a little, is all,” Darant retorted. He grabbed a bunch of fresh feed stalks, soaked them in the whiskey and offered them to the animal. “Compliments of General Arunsen. Even the company mascot needs to enjoy the local hooch.”
Hubert took one sniff, gave a high-pitched sneeze, and then tucked in.
“That’s my boy,” Darant cooed.
“You ignorant fool!” yelled Shepherd, leaping up and snatching away Hubert’s treat. Trying to, at any rate. The basten goat laid his floppy ears flat along his head and gave the nasty human a warning growl while clamping the booze-soaked food between his teeth.
Shepherd gave up and pointed a finger at Darant instead. “You need educating about animal cruelty.”
“Who, sir?” Darant replied innocently. “Me, sir?”
“Yes, you. You little shit. Animals have rights. They are not toys and playthings.”
“We’re just borrowing them as cover,” Darant replied, his voice calm, but his eyes shooting anger at the rebel. “Their fate is down to the farmhouse. Tomorrow, Hubert here might find himself inside a pie, so he may as well enjoy today to the full.” He gave Shepherd a glare laced with the threat of violence. “I can relate to that.”
“Excuse me, Shepherd.” Enthree waved a forelimb in front of her, the Muryani gesture for dispelling tension. “Am I reading this correctly? You value the animal more than the humans?”
“Of course I do. That goat is an innocent creature native to this sector. He’s worth more than all of you.” He glared before adding in a small voice. “More than all of us.”
Suddenly, the recruiter seemed unsure of himself, glancing nervously at Vetch.
The big Viking, though, merely glowered silently behind his beard. Confidence – arrogance – whatever it was called, it wrapped snugly back around Shepherd like a thick, protective coat. He took a few steps back so he could address the space like an orator, but banged his head on the low ceiling of the dugout, shaking loose a sprinkle of dirt from the tree roots that bound the earth together.
Shepherd sat down instead. “Farmhouse Control tells me you’re Militia deserters.”
“Is that really what you call the girl?” said Vetch. “Farmhouse?”
“It is her code name, yes. I don’t know her real one.”
It seemed to Darant that the other humans shrunk back into the shadows of the gloomy hideout, a half-concealed pause in which to consider their next move. He ignored them, scratching behind Hubert’s ears and whispering, “Stick with Yat, mate. I’ll make sure you don’t wind up in a pie.”
“You’re right that we were Militia once,” Lily told Shepherd. “And now we’re looking for a new home. Might as well be your outfit. Whatever we do now, if we were ever captured, they would torture us and string us up to encourage the others to toe the line. Fighting for the rebels wouldn’t make our deaths any worse.”
“Quite so.” Shepherd gave Lily the half smile that meant he thought she’d said something stupid. The man used that smile a lot. “However,” he pointed out, “I suspect your end would not be so quick as with a hanging. It would be prolonged. The full Eiylah-Bremah treatment. They would make you see the error of your ways, and they would make you betray everyone you loved. You would choke on guilt so intense that you would beg for execution, not just for the release from your torment, but because you truly believed that was what you deserved.”
Vetch rubbed at his beard and grunted an affirmative. “That’s what… that girl said. We rescued someone guilty of speech crimes. She said they would make her beg for execution or slavery in the end, but I didn’t buy it. No one’s gonna make me beg for the noose.”
“And yet, like so many others who also believed they were impervious to the demands of the re-educators, you would crack in the end. Her case is a little different. You refer to Carnolin Idoh, yes? She fell victim to the Churn. This, my friends, is a planet of confabulists, and the cynical dictator In’Nalla, exploits this to her own ends. The Churn was already in place before her rise to power, but she has made it her greatest weapon. Even if tomorrow she were to disappear forever, Eiylah-Bremah society is so dysfunctional, it would take generations to calm down their evil nonsense.”
Darant slid his gaze along his friends, wanting one of them to explain what the hell a confabulist was, or ask the smug skragg in the red and white neckerchief. None of them looked eager to be the one.
No matter. I’ll ask Enthree later.
Lily said, “We saw only a jail cell with a viewing window for the public to mock the convicted inmate. There has to be more than that. So what is it? Drugs? Torture?”
“Yes, all of those, plus plenty of patience. The process takes years in many cases. Yet they nearly always succeed, and the public knows they will eventually see the transgressor recant. It is not enough to merely humiliate a criminal and make them confess to a crime they did not commit. On Eiylah-Bremah they don’t stop until they have convinced you of your own guilt. Those confessions are always genuine, even though the alleged crime is often an enormous distortion of the truth. Federal and planetary authorities across the Federation bring their high-profile prisoners to Eiylah-Bremah to be broken until they beg to publicly confess. Being able to make prisoners believe that two plus two equals five is a major part of the planetary economy.”
“I thought that was mining.”
“Ahhh…” Shepherd gave Lily a condescending smile as reward for her naïve comment. “The outer asteroid belt is indeed rich in rare minerals and degenerate condensates. It is the great natural bounty of this star system, and its wealth should be fairly distributed among all deserving citizens. Instead, the tyrant, In’Nalla, has leased the mining rights to her federal senate backers in return for Militia military support. The asteroids that should make this world rich, instead pay for the Militia jackboots that press down upon the throats of the people so that In’Nalla can force her political ideology upon them.”
“Man!” Darant shook his head angrily. “That shits.”
“Yes, that, as you say, shits.”
“Tell me again about those jackboots, Shepherd. They sound neat, but I don’t remember being issued any footwear in my career as a trooper. Damned thieving commissary goblins.”
“The system is corrupt,” declared Shepherd, rising above Darant’s quip. “That is why the Pan-Human Progressive Alliance is here to change things to a better way. Eiylah-Bremah is the galaxy in microcosm. Across the Federation there are disgraces such as the theft of natural wealth, and monsters such as In’Nalla. The rebellion will redistribute wealth to those who are deserving. Power will be seized from the corrupt elite and their cronies, and reserved for those whose values are worthwhile.”
“We get it,” said Vetch. “Enough of the speeches already. How do we join?”
“N
ot so fast, my friend.” Shepherd tutted. “You have all parted ways with the Militia, I accept that, but that makes you desperate, it doesn’t make you one of us. I shall interview each of you in turn and in isolation. Starting with…” he swung out his finger. “Starting with you, Darant.”
LILY HJON
Enthree was Shepherd’s last interview and by far his longest.
Lily had figured that was the way it would play. She’d scattered a few clues that she was ill-educated scum, and grinned when he had cast horrified glances at her tattooed face. His prejudice had done the rest.
After all, Militia troopers were all murderers and thieves. And Lily’s party were deserters from the Militia, which made them an altogether lower form of underclass.
Luckily Darant and Vetch had picked up on her lead to play dumb. Literally in Vetch’s case who had clammed up completely.
Shepherd had quickly dismissed the humans as worthless plasma fodder. His interview with Lily had been a halfhearted series of probes, checking for problematic beliefs, but a Muryani was another matter altogether, and Enthree loved to debate humanoid political philosophy.
While Shepherd was quizzing Enthree – and probably the other way around, knowing her favorite bug – Vetch and Darant pressed Lily to explain what she was playing at.
“I recognize his sort,” she explained.
“He’s a skragging rebel,” Darant pointed out helpfully. “He’s the sort we killed until we came to this damned planet. Now we don’t have a home, so we change sides. We’ve been through this, Lily. Why are you being unreliable?”
“It’s still a smart move. But it would never work with the likes of Shepherd. I hoped it might, but we’d never fit in with his lot and that would get us killed before we got off-world. I used to know people like him. In his head, he’s a hero in his own story of liberation and justice. The truth is that he wants to replace a corrupt elite with a new one based on moral and political purity.”
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