Department 9

by Tim C. Taylor

  Enthree tilted her head, puzzled, but leveled it again when she figured out 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 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 smugness.

  “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. Hubert leaped into the human’s arms, pressed a hot nose to his cheek, and licked 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 enjoying 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, then tucked in.

  “That’s my boy,” Darant cooed.

  “You ignorant fool!” yelled Shepherd, leaping up and snatching away Hubert’s treat. Or he tried 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 daggers at the rebel. “Their fate is down to the farmhouse. Tomorrow, Hubert might find himself inside a pie, so he may as well enjoy today to the fullest.” 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 and glanced nervously at Vetch.

  The big Viking, though, merely glowered silently behind his beard. Confidence, arrogance—whatever it was called—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 he 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?” asked Vetch. “Farmhouse?”

  “It is her code name, yes. I don’t know her real one.”

  It seemed to Darant that the other humans shrank 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. If we are ever captured, they would torture us and string us up to encourage 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 as quick as 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 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 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 a 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 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?”

  “Not 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.”

  * * * * *

  Chapter 10: Lily Hjon

  Enthree was Shepherd’s last interview and, by far, his longest.

  Lily had figured that was the way it would play out. She’d scattered a few clues that indicated she was ill-educated scum, and she 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 even lower form of underclass.

  Luckily Darant and Vetch had picked up on her lead to play dumb. Literally, in Vetch’s case, he 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, 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.”

  “And based on knowing the right people.”

  “Precisely. And if they win, they’ll split into factions based on ideological differences and fight each other. It’s how Cora’s World started out. The original Cora convinced herself that she was establishing a refuge of ideological decency. Her political descendants are a human-supremacist death cult who have long since denounced their world’s founder as a xeno-apologist.”

  “So, he’s an arrogant pile of drent,” said Vetch. “I’ve wanted to tickle him with Lucerne since the moment I clapped eyes on him. I brought him in anyway because we need him. No one’s signing up for the cause. We’re just exploiting the local situation to get ourselves transport off-system. If not with him and his damned Panhandlers, how do you propose we do it, Lil’?”

  Yes, how? Lily’s idea was a gamble based on guesswork. They hadn’t been given Militia intel on anything, just tasked with jobs day by day. But Lily had asked, listened, and read between the lines. The official line was that the rebellion on this world was part of the Panhandler insurrection flaring up across the Federation, but too much of what Lily had overheard hadn’t added up.

  “Shepherd’s not a fighter,” she explained. “He’s an intellectual starring in his own heroic adventure. The Panhandlers have expanded so fast, they can only be doing so by allying with local malcontents. Maybe recruiting mercs too. He’ll be part of a hardcore cadre that’s put in place to ensure the locals don’t stray from the right politics. Our best bet is to make him despise us so much, he doesn’t want us in with the Panhandlers, but will redirect us to allied groups instead. Darant figured it out. Yat, you did brilliantly in feeding that goat whiskey.”

  “I did? I just wanted to see what Hubert would do.”

  Lily shushed him, because Shepherd had emerged topside to gather them like a schoolteacher herding errant children.

  * * *

  “I’ll come straight to the point,” Shepherd announced once they were back underground. “The role of the PHPA in regions like this—ones still under legacy regime control—is to prepare the way for the forces to come. We need leaders. Articulate advocates who can communicate the robust political arguments that underpin our cause. I regret to say that we cannot use you in such a capacity.”

  Lily felt her heart pounding. Steady…

  “However…”

  Jackpot! Lily looked down at the dirt floor to hide the grin on her face.

  “We do have a role for you. The rebellion has armed and organized local civilian groups. Our political advisers are embedded within, but the organizations are largely able to run themselves for simple everyday tasks.”

  I bet they’re capable of more than that, you arrogant bastard.

  “I’m sorry to disappoint you. Not everyone can be a leader, and we must all make our contribution, each according to our abilities.” Shepherd gave his condescending laugh. “For gasbags like me to be able to wander the planet, claiming to be intellectual badasses to those who will listen, we need many more brave individuals to do the actual hard work of revolution.”

  Darant scowled. “Plasma fodder. That’s what you want us to be.”

  “Careful, Yat Darant. You use an objectionable term. Foot soldier is preferable.”

  “And Farmhouse Control,” said Vetch. “Is she a foot soldier, or is she a leader like you?”

  “That is not for the likes of you to know. Our local affiliate organization calls themself the Revolutionary Forces of Reconciliation, and their forward base is in Zone-41, two hundred klicks east of here. It’s quite a trek through government-controlled territory, but with your Militia background, one I’m confident you can make. Within a year or two, you’ll be back here as part of a military unit with guns in your hands and the glory of victory in your blood. Pass me your wrist slates, and I’ll key in the coordinates. Tell them Shepherd sent you, and all will be okay.”

  “Shepherd,” muttered Darant. “Guess that makes us sheep. Sheep that you’re leading to—”

  “To a purposeful destiny,” the Panhandler insisted. “As I explained, we all have our contributions to make to the cause—”

  “And ours is to fall under the enemy’s guns as…foot soldiers.”

  “Perhaps. It’s a matter of perspective, Darant. Everything in life is a matter of perspective because our minds see the universe as stories. In’Nalla is a narcissist and a brutal authoritarian, but she’s right that we’re all confabulists in the end. So, stop using objectionable terms like plasma fodder, and tell yourself a story in which you star as the heroic rebel soldier. The Zhoogenes are no different. Stories are the machine language of their brains too. Even you, my Muryani friend, are the same. Am I right?”

  “You are correct,” Enthree agreed.

  Lily could see Darant mouthing, ‘What the fuck?’

  Shepherd could too. He took in the sea of blank human faces—and one inscrutable intelligent giant ant—and shrugged. “Who am I kidding?” he said. “There’s three and a half bottles of whiskey-scotch need finishing off. Ten credits say we can’t finish it by midnight.”

  For the first time, a fulsome cheer filled the hollow under the hill.

  * * * * *

  Chapter 11: Vetch Arunsen

  “Don’t curse me too hard, or it will become a habit,” Shepherd advised as he bade them farewell. He smiled, but it was a forced gesture from a man whose head was obviously pounding from Eiylah-Bremah whiskey.

  “Tell me again why that’s a problem,” said Darant, with the cheery smile and booming voice of a man who knows he’s the only one in the room with the constitution of a hazardous wast
e reprocessing plant.

  “Because I feel sure we will meet again.” Shepherd looked about to elaborate but thought better of speaking. Or making any kind of sound.

  Darant slapped the rebel heartily on the back. “Cheery-bye,” he said. Loudly.

  Shepherd groaned and walked away.

  Sitting beneath the cover of the trees, they watched him go in silence, those with aching heads enjoying the cooling breeze rolling up the hill from the fields below.

  “In case there’s any doubt on the matter,” said Vetch once Shepherd had disappeared, “this unit ain’t a democracy. I’m in charge.” He paused in case any wished to dissent, but it didn’t suit any of them to disagree, not even Darant. “However, if anyone thinks we shouldn’t go find these Revolutionary Forces of Reconciliation, speak now.”

  “Good,” said Enthree after several seconds of silence. She shivered, building up the strength to speak.

  Vetch felt a pang of sympathy. His head was sore, but her kind were not good drinkers. Enthree’s hangover would punish her for days.

  “We face a difficult journey with an uncertain ending,” said the alien. “That’s perfect, because for humans, stasis is psychologically damaging. You need change, or rather you need action with the credible belief that it could lead to change.”

  “You’re right,” said Lily. “We’re going crazy here. We all need to move on, though each in our different ways. Take Vetch, for a start. He needs a purpose, to convince himself he hasn’t sold our souls in return for saving a Zhoogene girl we didn’t know and will never see again. He needs a haircut too.”

  “What about me?” asked Darant. “Why should I head out to join these revolutionaries?”

  “Because you need an outlet for your violent tendencies.”

  Darant shrugged, satisfied with his answer.