Department 9

by Tim C. Taylor

Chapter 52: General Gzeiter

  “Excellent work, my friend,” said Gzeiter heartedly, extending a hand to the Trucker.

  The mutant transferred his cigar to his mouth so he could pump Gzeiter’s hand vigorously. “Today, we will win a famous victory,” he said out the side of his mouth.

  His media team took images at the steps of the captured Forefront Building to show the Federation what could be achieved if the forces of resistance allied with the PHPA, even if your top military commander looked like a janitor playing dress up in a smuggler costume.

  Gzeiter smiled at his ally. That’s right, you dumbass fraggwort. Tell yourself you’ve won a great victory. Next time I see you, you’ll be dead.

  The combined PHPA forces and RevRec strike column had raced through the streets, never letting the civilian rabble stand firm, and pushed on to take the headquarters of the three main media-shaping corporations, ending here at the biggest of them all, Forefront Media.

  They had expected a tough fight against the Militia, but other than a few brief firefights where the two sides had stumbled across each other, there had been nothing.

  Casualties had been minimal.

  But Gzeiter’s reconnaissance teams informed him that a counterattack was on the way.

  Gzeiter took a last look at the broad street. RevRec troops were trying to fortify the approaches, as they would also be doing at the other two buildings they’d seized. They were doing a good job of it too, which was as well as he needed them to take a heavy toll on the incoming Militia force, while suffering devastating casualties themselves.

  Of more immediate importance, RevRec technicians had reconnected the Forefront Building with EB-Link. It was Gzeiter who controlled the message now. He had the best outfit of media shapers to do his bidding. At gunpoint.

  And when he’d turned the population against both In’Nalla and RevRec, Gzeiter would emerge to seize the Senate Building and announce himself interim president of Eiylah-Bremah, until such time as properly constituted elections could be held.

  “Good luck.” He gave the Trucker a respectful nod. “I’ll see you soon.”

  The moment he walked up the stone steps and through the reinforced bronze doors, he ordered them shut.

  “I want armor plating welded across all entry points,” he ordered his command team waiting for him in the marbled foyer. “All but one of our force shields are to be deployed in staggered formation behind the main entrance. The last shield is to protect the roof entrance. Mobile suppression teams, get ready for an attack coming through the walls. Indirect fire, snipers, and anti-air to the roof. Come on, people, we’ve planned for this. Now make it happen!”

  As his team rushed to implement the plan, he keyed his comms to his propaganda and subversion commander. “Krendell, report.”

  “Early days, General,” she replied in that smug way of hers that sounded as if she were rubbing her hands in glee. “We’ve recruited twenty-eight technician volunteers from the staff here, and they do appear to have the skills we need to win the information war.”

  “Twenty-eight? The plan called for thirty.”

  “Yes, sir. We press ganged thirty, but two of them contributed by sacrificing their lives to encourage the others.”

  Gzeiter felt a chill run up his spine. Captain Krendell studied the inner workings of the human mind—and those of most of the main Federation races—like a botanist dissecting rare plants. She understood how all the moving parts worked and how to manipulate them, but she showed no signs of possessing any human emotions herself, despite her personnel file insisting Krendell was the same species as Gzeiter.

  “Very good,” he said. “I’ll be with you in three mikes. Gzeiter out.”

  * * * * *

  Chapter 53: Tavistock Fitzwilliam

  From behind the half-assed cover of a few overturned cars, Fitz was watching the Panhandlers set up shop on the roof of the Forefront Building, when the news he was expecting came in.

  “Trucker, Sentinel-2. Eyes on Militia column. Company sized. Light armed infantry, and we count four jury-rigged gun trucks with heavy blasters.”

  “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 the situation gets too hot for you, evac and meet us at the station.”

  Fitz heard the rumble of engines approaching from the north and, a little quieter, 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!”

  * * * * *

  Chapter 54: 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—glanced nervously at the crowd and looked more uncomfortable with every passing second. 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. He was performing a valuable service for her now. He was demonstrating to the crowd that, despite In’Nalla carrying 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 Jacobin, the crowd had been stunned into silence before shifting their attention to EB-Link’s group mind. Now, they were beginning to harden their opinions. Angry sho
uting matches were breaking out. There were several attempts to chant her name, though they quickly petered out.

  Revving engines announced a new player in this act, one that would swing it decisively toward In’Nalla.

  A fat-wheeled armored vehicle tried to enter from Procession Street, but the angry crowd wouldn’t allow it to.

  It wasn’t a rebel fighting vehicle, it 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 innocent victim role she was playing.

  The rebels appeared to realize their mistake. The big one with the war hammer hustled her away from the mic. She exaggerated his intervention, half falling as if she had been shoved, hard. The rebel spoke through the PA system. “You, in the armored car. No sudden moves. If you attempt to cross the blast shield, we will destroy you.”

  This time, In’Nalla couldn’t help herself. She sneered openly. With their foes doing everything in their power to hand them victory in the battle of public perception, anyone would have gloated.

  The armored wagon 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. The clash was 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 that was so well entrenched by the time In’Nalla took power, 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 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 blaster’s barrel 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 passed by slowly for In’Nalla, as if to punish her by drawing out the realization that it was she who had miscalculated in 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. He had two oversized handguns 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 blast us if they 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, 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 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 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, yet our signals can still get out.”

  “Perfect,” said In’Nalla. “Leave us. Move!”

  “But…” started the Zhoogene, who swiveled her chair 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, 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 in 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 will 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 when 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 would fall 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.”

  * * * * *

  Chapter 55: 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, one way or an
other. If the people are already turning against In’Nalla, armed citizens will flock to Slinh’s side. If they’re still undecided, Slinh’s appearance 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. Fake footage has 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 the number is rising fast. We’ve lost, Captain. Time to exfil.”

  “Understood. Stay on the line while I loop 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. 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 on his wrist slate. The poor man had gone rather red in the face.