Department 9

by Tim C. Taylor

  Lily stroked a hand down Enthree’s hairy shoulder. “And as for you, my Muryani friend, your greatest desire is to be embedded in the adventures of humanoids.”

  “I concur,” said Enthree. “What about you, Lily? What is it you seek?”

  “Decent beer, late nights, and later mornings. I deserve a supply of hot running men, the badder the better.”

  Enthree tilted her head in denial. “Lily Hjon, that is not correct. What you describe is only a distraction from what you truly seek.”

  “Can’t pull the wool over your antennae, can I, sister? It might be a distraction, but it would sure as hell be fun.” Her face soured, and she closed her eyes, the lids slotting into the tattoos of magic firebolts or whatever the hell was supposed to be exploding out of her sockets. Sometimes, Lily looked less human than Enthree.

  “I can’t tell you what I’m looking for,” she said in a shaky little voice. “But I know I haven’t found it yet.”

  Hell, Lil’! Vetch finally realized the spikey tattoo lines on her face were a subconscious defense. Cover.

  Lily was not in a good place.

  “That’s enough!” Vetch raised his voice as far as his throbbing head would allow and was relieved to see that Lily picked herself up from her introspection. “I looked up the term confabulist. They’re people who make up elaborate lies to explain why they’re right and anyone who disagrees is wrong. But they aren’t lying—they believe their own crap. And here’s the kicker—the more intelligent and educated they are, the better equipped they are to lie to themselves. I still don’t really get it. Enthree, did you understand what that buffoon was talking about?”

  “Oh, yes. Shepherd was a fascinating man. I believe I understood him far better than he understood himself.”

  “Then you can explain tonight. Darant, you’re on watch. The rest of you, get some sleep. You’ll need it. We head out at sunset.”

  * * * * *

  Chapter 12: Revered Leader In’Nalla

  The unmarked car pulled out from the dusty hedge-lined road, onto a rough farm track. Asher’s words were jolted out of her as the vehicle bucked violently and the rear seat slapped the backsides of the Revered Leader of Eiylah-Bremah and her private secretary, butts accustomed to being cosseted in official limos, cruising along the priority lanes of proper roads.

  In’Nalla resisted the urge to glare at the driver. Or put a bullet through her brain. Such things looked petty, and appearances were everything in politics, especially in a period of transition such as this.

  Within a few seconds, the driver had mastered the difficult terrain, the gravitics howling as the motors pushed the heavily armored vehicle high above the dirt bumps.

  “You’ll have to speak louder, Blayde.”

  Blayde Asher winced at the irritation in her mistress’ voice and started again. “It’s Secretary Gordon, ma’am. He’s quietly agitating for the latest gun control bill.”

  “Gordon’s always whining about what he likes to call the uncontrolled proliferation of firearms.”

  “Indeed, ma’am, but he’s winning support in the Senate. He’ll find a stooge to table the bill for him.”

  “Who, Blayde? Who is supporting this…this defiance of my will? And at a time like this?”

  “That’s difficult to say. You understand that senators are unwilling to speak openly unless they feel they have safety in numbers. Nonetheless, it is possible to read the runes, ma’am. I believe the talk of a Gordon-sponsored gun control bill is highly believable.”

  The car sank into a grassy knoll above a rippling field of rye. Her bodyguard, Halm, got out of the car to greet the Militia and police officers coming to meet them, which gave her a few moments to mull over the threat from Gordon. And the woman who had discerned it.

  Asher was a reedy woman with pebble-lens spectacles who always wore a shabby hat that seemed two sizes too big for her head. She was easily dismissed by those who didn’t know her as an inconsequential lackey, yet she was an astute political observer, and In’Nalla’s spies had reported that Asher had perfect vision.

  Blayde Asher was an act. But she was her act.

  “Let Gordon make his move if he dares,” In’Nalla said, with a sigh. “He will argue that, in these times of insurrection, we must not allow our enemies to arm themselves freely. And I will argue that it is precisely because the times are dangerous that our citizens must be armed, so they may defend themselves and our society.”

  Halm was walking back across the grass to the car. He looked satisfied that the area was secure.

  “Gordon’s a fool,” she spat. “He’ll never understand that, in the current situation, weapon control laws are a sideshow. What really matters is how the citizens choose to use the weapons already out there. And for that, we need to control not just the way they speak, but the way they think.”

  And Plan 19 will deliver exactly that, she thought, though she kept the dangerous words to herself. Committing mass atrocities against your loyal citizens was a regrettable necessity, but one the Court of Public Opinion was not ready to support.

  The door opened, and Halm stuck his massive and rather handsome head through. “Area’s secure, ma’am. It’s safe to leave the vehicle.”

  * * *

  The hellhole the fugitives had used stank of human sweat, animal stink, and of all things, cheap whiskey. A pair of basten goats were in here with them. She shuddered—the disgusting creatures had probably used the space to copulate.

  But for once, she was glad of her small stature because the others kept scraping their hats along the dirt roof held together by tree roots.

  She glared at the local police commander, a Sub-Commander Rea Konestogga, and enjoyed watching the Zhoogene go rigid with fear.

  Serves you right. If it weren’t for you, Sub-Commander, I wouldn’t be in this shithole.

  When In’Nalla was led to the hideout, a Zhoogene farmgirl had been hanging around the police commander, trying to conceal the lust burning like golden fire in her eyes. It was obvious she was the informant, and it was equally obvious what—or rather who—had made her sell out her cause.

  It wasn’t illegal for Zhoogenes to refuse hormone suppressants—though only because the federal courts would declare any such law unconstitutional—but it was a disgustingly aberrant behavior. How could anyone let their own body rule them? The farmgirl deserved all that was coming her way.

  In’Nalla licked her lips and was preparing to unleash her anger on Rea Konestogga when a soft bleating interrupted her.

  She looked down in surprise and saw one of the goats nudge her with its furry forehead. The creature looked up at her hopefully, blinking enormous eyes.

  “Oh, you poor dear. Do you expect a treat?”

  In response, the wretched animal rubbed against her shin.

  In’Nalla gave it a solid kick that rewarded her with a snap of bone and hurled the goat against the wall.

  The other goat looked in horror at its stunned companion.

  Then it snarled at this aggressive human, ears back and fangs extended.

  But In’Nalla had already drawn her Z’lox Needler pistol and chambered a flesh round. She put two shells through the goat that had dared to snarl at her, and another blew the skull of its friend into red paste.

  The confined space concentrated the clap of the gunshots and made her ears ring, but In’Nalla decided the effect on Sub-Commander Rea Konestogga was most pleasing. If the police commander went any more rigid, she’d snap.

  “Why was this place not discovered earlier?” she demanded.

  “Ma’am,” began Major Lyssin, the Militia commander, “I’m gratified that you’ve taken an unexpected interest in our operations, but this is a routine—”

  “Shut up, Lyssin. I’m asking you, Sub-Commander Rea Konestogga.”

  “Ma’am, intelligence sources are, by nature, unpredictable. It’s regrettable the information was not forthcoming earlier.”

  “You should have exploited your source more
ruthlessly, Rea Konestogga. What was the problem? Did you fall in love with the girl you seduced?”

  “Of course not, ma’am.”

  “I’m very glad to hear it. But she’s hot for you, isn’t she? Go get your reward. Now.”

  “Revered Leader, forgive me. I’m not sure I understand.”

  “Don’t waste my time with coyness. Grab that farmgirl. Go into that farmhouse. Lock the door behind you and do whatever it is your bodies tell you to do with each other. Don’t come out until you’re both fully satisfied. That’s an order.”

  If the sub-commander weren’t wearing a beret, In’Nalla didn’t doubt that her headgrowth would be waving like that rye outside in a hurricane. “Yes, Revered Leader.”

  Rea Konestogga saluted and left the burrow.

  “If her informant had spoken earlier, you, Major Lyssin, would have caught your deserters, and I wouldn’t be wasting my valuable time on this trip to a stinking pit. Asher, arrange for Rea Konestogga’s immediate reassignment to the Northern Fringe. Let’s see if she has more success seducing the polar wolves. As for the girl, she’s a dangerous rebel. Arrest her the moment the sub-commander is gone and throw her into A-10.”

  Finally, she turned her attention to the reason for her visit. Major Lyssin, the human commander of the city garrison with whom she had a special arrangement—one that clearly needed realignment—and Lieutenant Ren Kay, a Zhoogene subordinate who was clearly in the major’s confidence.

  “Leave us,” she told Asher, without breaking her observation of the Militia officers. “Tell Halm to make sure no one enters the burrow and then wait for me in the car.”

  Major Lyssin got straight down to business. “Why are you here, Revered Leader?”

  “Why are you here, Major? The esteemed capital zone commander getting his hands dirty chasing a handful of Militia deserters…No, sir, it does not fit. What’s special about them?”

  Lyssin gave her a thoughtful look. It was refreshing to engage with someone who didn’t fear her.

  “These are individuals of concern to Joint Sector High Command.”

  “Why?”

  “Ma’am, I do not know, and I did not ask. Even if I did know, I would not feel obliged to inform you. That’s not part of our deal.”

  “Our deal? Hah!” She brought a boot down hard on a basten carcass, crunching bones and tendons. “Our deal appears to be as broken as this animal. Instead of implementing my wishes, you chase deserters who are of no consequence to me. May I remind you that I allow the Militia to exploit the considerable wealth of the belt mines with the understanding that, in return, you supply the brute force I need to push my people into the bright future they deserve?”

  She nodded at the junior officer. “Him? Is he dependable?”

  “You may speak freely in front of Lieutenant Ren Kay, ma’am.”

  “Good. Perhaps he can explain why you’re dragging your heels over Plan 19.”

  “Because there’s a limit to what the Militia is prepared to do. Let the rebels have the jungles and mountains to the east. You’re safe here, in Kaylingen. For your benefit, Ren Kay, the Revered Leader wishes to discredit the rebellion by committing war crimes in their name.”

  “Ma’am, if I may,” ventured the lieutenant. “If it’s dirty work you need doing, perhaps hiring mercs is in order.”

  “You Militia are my fucking mercs!” she yelled.

  “That is not accurate, ma’am.”

  In’Nalla felt a chill down her spine. The Militia major’s voice was filled with contempt. Disgust. Condescension. At her!

  She got in his face and whispered, “If you fail me, I shall destroy you. I shall demand of the Sub-Sector Marshal that he break you to the ranks and order you to lick my boots clean every day—dawn, noon, and dusk.”

  Lyssin wasn’t the slightest bit fazed. “I advise you not to. And if you think you have any—” he had the good grace to give an embarrassed cough, “—dirt on me, then know that the Sub-Sector Marshal already has that and a whole lot more. It’s your prerogative, of course, but I would think carefully before you make yourself a liability.”

  In that moment, she knew the Militia were no longer the answer. She needed another means to complete the improvement of Eiylah-Bremah.

  Lyssin seemed to sense the change too. He swallowed hard, showing nervousness for the first time. “I take it we’re dismissed, ma’am.”

  The major practically fled her presence, drawing the Zhoogene lieutenant with him.

  In the end, the asshole had rediscovered his fear of her, but what exactly was he afraid of? If she could no longer rely on the Militia, then she had limited means to project power. Less, perhaps, than even the rebels. Most people assumed she held an unassailable position of authority, but it was just a house of cards, held up not by rifles and fighter craft, but by the support of the people.

  And that depended on controlling the lies circulating through EB-Link.

  She needed to shore up that support. Deepen it with fear. If Lyssin wouldn’t implement Plan 19, then she needed to find a way to do so herself, and soon.

  A howl of pain—quickly suppressed—came from outside the entrance to the hollow.

  She pressed herself against a muddy wall and covered the entrance with her Needler.

  “Easy,” said Lieutenant Ren Kay, his arms up and spread wide. He halted with his chest a yard from her muzzle. “I offer you no threat, and your security guard is unconscious, but will be fit for action by tomorrow with no permanent damage done.”

  “Who are you really?”

  “Oh, I really am Deroh Ren Kay, but I am more than a Militia lieutenant. I work for a federal agency called the Blue Chamber. I’m here to help.”

  “Blue Chamber?” She waved her pistol at him. “I have no qualms about firing a weapon in anger.”

  Ren Kay raised an eyebrow the color of golden wheat. “As the cute, fluffy animals discovered to their detriment. Look, Revered Leader, I don’t blame you for not knowing about us. We don’t exactly advertise our existence.”

  “The Federation is awash with secret societies and black ops departments. I think they’re compartmentalized sections of the same two agencies. Which are you? Militia? Or are you really Legion?”

  “If what you say is true, then how would I know from within the confines of my compartment? If I may…a more useful question for you to ask is why my organization would want to help you. To which the answer is that our objectives align perfectly. We want to discredit the Panhandlers. Unlike the official position of the Militia and its Senate backers, as represented by my superior, Major Lyssin, the Blue Chamber is not afraid to get our hands dirty with fabricated atrocities. In fact, we specialize in false flag ops.”

  “It’s very kind of you to answer my own damned questions, but that wasn’t top of the list. I was thinking more, why the hell should I accept your help?”

  The green bastard shrugged. “Because you need us too much not to.”

  * * *

  In the grass outside the burrow entrance, Ren Kay smiled at the muscled security human groaning in his semi-conscious state.

  He’d lied about the severity of the human’s injuries. A police medic was making his initial assessment, and if the man knew his trade, he would recommend amputation of Halm’s hand and replacement by a prosthetic.

  Sergeant Edrifice Halm was no longer a problem, though.

  In’Nalla was.

  In his first few moments of direct conversation, she’d demonstrated that she was highly perceptive, and that made her dangerous. He had to consider the possibility that she suspected the department had been running her as their asset from the very beginning of her ascent to power.

  With Operation Blue Chamber suddenly moving faster than planned, threatening to spiral out of the department’s control, he had to escalate or abort.

  He watched the little human with the pockmarked face storm across the knoll back to her car. She didn’t look like a woman who knew she was a pawn but then she�
�d used her disheveled demeanor to cause people to underestimate her in the early years of her ascent. Was Ren Kay underestimating her now?

  No, he didn’t think so.

  Admittedly, he was working on gut feel, but the department had taught him when to trust his instincts, and now was such a time.

  He wouldn’t abort the operation.

  He would accelerate it.

  “Lieutenant!” called Lyssin. “Stop dawdling.”

  The major was in a huddle with a police tech support team. Drone operators from the look of their equipment cart.

  “Sorry, sir.”

  “Hurry up, man. I need you to acquire the police data on our targets.”

  Ren Kay blinked slowly, wiping away the Department 9 operation commander, and becoming once again the junior Militia officer eager to ingratiate himself with his superior.

  He rushed to Lyssin’s side. “My apologies. Did I miss anything?”

  * * * * *

  Chapter 13: Vetch Arunsen

  After reaching the coordinates Shepherd had given them, they had slithered through the mud in a chunk of featureless jungle and carried straight through. Five klicks farther on, Vetch took a breather to scan the area. Far from seeing signs of civilization, they were deeper and darker in the jungle.

  With a squelch of sucking mud, Vetch resumed his march, scanning the tall trees for a welcoming party and finding none. Sunlight streamed through gaps in the canopy high above, shining off the peculiar metallic growths like polished steel short swords that formed the center of the leaf spirals. Were these swords a kind of stamen?

  The foliage was green on this world, as it was throughout most of the Perseus Arm. Back in the Orion Spur, leaves were mostly purple, though the old myths said Earth had been an exception.

  Why the difference? Was it because the quality of light from the older stars found in this region of the galaxy different? It wouldn’t make any difference soon, because as they pressed on, the gaps in the canopy were shrinking. Before long, they would be encased in steamy shadows in which all colors would merge into a uniform darkness.