The newt reared up from its couch and bowed deeply, gesturing with its arms to please take stools and couches and sup drink together.
Osu might have judged the body language incorrectly, of course, but when they joined the alien at its table, it didn’t display anger. In fact, it didn’t display any reaction at all, ignoring them completely.
“Thine welcome is most meritorious,” said Osu. The Littorane had seemed lost in thought – possibly lost in drink to be more accurate – but it looked up from its contemplation and considered the human’s attempt to speak in the archaic dialect of the ancient Exiles.
“How so?” The Littorane flared its nostrils. It was tricky with the wall lights flickering through yellows and oranges to resemble flames, but Osu judged that her snout was orange, and made a working assumption that she was female.
“Thine fellows in the interior of this land, way yonder, dost harbor evil thoughts and wouldst rend our flesh if we traveled unescorted by our stout defenders.”
The Littorane waved a hand in a dismissive gesture that could pass for human if not that she’d used a mid-limb. “You don’t need to worry about that here. I’d heard some of the fundamentalist clans in the deep interior were getting worked up about something. Isolation and cold will do that, you know. Though I’ve also heard someone was deliberately stirring up ill will against all humanoids. That kind of crap is bad all round, but it won’t wash with the more progressive clans in the civilized part of Rho-Torkis.”
“Thank you,” said Osu.
“No thees and thous?” Rynter queried. “We don’t need to talk like an old book?”
“Not in a human bar,” the Littorane told her. “You will find many eager to speak with you, to practice the wider Federation languages. Rho-Torkis has cut itself off, choosing to be a world of isolation for so many centuries. We know that period is drawing to a close. There will come a time when Bresca-Brevae will be a hub of financial speculation and industrial activity. Which, I’m sure, explains your presence here today. So, please, speak easily, especially as I can tell from your accents that you are not long on this world.”
Being able to speak easily would prove useful, but Osu was more interested in the Littorane’s comment about trouble being stirred up. What had that RIL told Bronze under interrogation? A name... Khallini.
“Does the name Khallini mean anything to you?” he asked the Littorane.
The alien swept her head from side to side, thinking deeply before answering. “There’s the famous Battle of Khallini back in the Orion Era, of course. A great Littorane naval victory.”
Rynter cleared her throat. “I thought it was the Legion who won that battle.”
“No, I don’t think so. The original Human Legion was born out of that Littorane victory, but… let us not quarrel over misleading histories. Let us instead agree that in those ancient days the alliance between humans and Littoranes was essential to both our peoples. Though we rarely meet in the modern Federation, that is not so with Bresca-Breveers.”
“Khallini.” A bearded human slammed a nearly empty tankard onto their table. “I know him.”
The man was dressed in a ragged cloak that had originally been a rich blue. His muddy calf-length boots hadn’t been cleaned for a very long time, and the smell assailing Osu in waves indicated that neither had his body.
“Well?” the interloper challenged, grinning on the edge of drunkenness. “Don’t you want to hear what I know?”
Osu had seen his sort on a hundred worlds. The kind who could spin a story out of an overheard half whisper. It was simply an act to cadge free drinks and a hot meal off anyone stupid enough to believe their tales.
Before Osu could tell the rogue to clear off, the Littorane issued a flurry of hand gestures and a stream of instructions in the local tongue to a passing waiter.
“Please,” she said to the human. “Will you join us and tell us your tale?”
“I’m Kidson.” After a theatrical bow, Kidson took a chair on the side of the table. It was only then that it occurred to Osu that he himself looked every bit as shabby as this man, and the idea of washing before entering the bar hadn’t entered any of their heads.
Kidson sucked in a long breath. “Khallini, eh? Lord Khallini, I should say. Sticks his beak and fingers into many people’s pies. On the outside he’s respectability personified: a tiny man with a fancy cane, white gloves, and a genuine aristo-hat dripping with jeweled chains. Acts as if he spends his life sipping fine wine with presidents, senators, admirals, and the finest singers, poets, and sculptors. Maybe he does. Or maybe the man who lets himself be seen is a front for the real Khallini who operates in the shadows. All I know is that if Lord Khallini asks a little favor of you, you drop everything and do his bidding. Either that or you run and hide in the most desolate wilderness of an uninhabited planet, and stay there for the rest of your life.”
Osu whistled. “Quite a guy!”
“That’s for sure.”
Osu frowned and leaned aggressively toward the story-spinner. “So explain this. Why have I never heard of Lord Khallini?”
“Be grateful for your ignorance,” Kidson shot back. The Littorane began tapping on a handheld device. “Lord Khallini is not the kind of person who allows himself to be traced. And don’t try looking him up.” The Littorane froze. “In the first place, you won’t find information about him. More importantly, if you seek him out, Khallini will start to take an interest in you.”
The Littorane fled. Just left her drink and scampered away noisily.
Kidson defied Osu’s expectations. Instead of basking in the triumph of his story’s power, he looked saddened by the Littorane’s swift departure. “Probably for the best,” he muttered. “I should never have spoken so openly.”
A change came over the man’s face, like golden sunlight breaking over a rain-drenched land. “What a pleasant sight you are.” He spread his arms wide. “Two arms and legs. I’ve never seen so many fellow humanoids ashore before.” He gave Enthree a sidelong glance. “Begging the pardon of your insect companion.”
Kidson guffawed, banging his tankard on the table. Evidently, he was drunk enough to find himself hilarious. He rapidly settled, though, and gave Enthree a more sober appraisal. “What’s your name, my Muryani friend?”
“Ndemo-327-Cerulian. The humanoids call me Enthree.”
“I see.” Kidson’s apparent drunkenness vanished. “Then they are fools because yours is a beautiful and honorable name. Your people are extremely rare on Rho-Torkis, but now you have shared your name, I start to perceive the reason for your presence. Yours is a trading caste name, if I’m not mistaken.”
“You are correct.” Enthree tilted her head. “Indeed, you are particularly well informed for a human.”
“In my line of business, it pays to understand those with whom you might wish to trade.”
Enthree advanced a forelimb toward the man, who allowed her to lift up his unruly cascade of blue-tipped hair. She rose from her Littorane couch and peered at his neck. “I see a ridge of hardened skin over the nape of your neck, such as develops after long wear of a heavy helmet. Implication is that your line of business involves prolonged exposure to the vacuum of space or the pressure of an underwater environment. You work on the deep sea auto miners, yes?”
He gave a half shrug. “Most humans do on this world. And you, trader?”
“We’ve come from the interior. Scouting possible mining sites and negotiating rights trades.”
“Then you are my competitors.” The man steeled his spine... and then broke out into more guffaws. “Or you will be in a century or so. Let us drink to friendly competition. In a decade or two, things will become less friendly. Mark my words. And don’t let the Littorane clan system fool you. They unite when they have to, and the Littoranes know how to drive a hard bargain. It will be the big newts who play the humanoids off against each other, not the other way around. I suppose that’s how it should be.”
“Change is coming
to Rho-Torkis,” said Zavage. “Do you ever wonder what Bresca-Brevae will be like in a hundred years?”
Kidson grinned. “In a word, no. Oh, I admire those with grand visions, but it’s a distraction. It’s not safe to be distracted, not in these dangerous times. There’s rebels been seen near the capital, and I hear rumors of strange goings-on. Dark stories. Don’t like to repeat them. Say, you’re not rebels, are you?”
“No,” Zavage replied, “but we saw aircraft with rebel markings.”
Why is Arunsen so uncharacteristically silent? Osu glanced at the big trooper. Something was eating him.
“We don’t understand,” said Zavage. “How did the rebels get past the Legion defenses?”
The man blinked. “Well, isn’t it obvious?”
The Chimera party looked at each other. “No,” they chorused.
“Think about it. Let’s start with the Militia. People’s Army, they used to call ’em.” He laughed. “That’s a sick joke. ‘M.A.P. Militia and the Amilxi People’. That’s what they stamp all over their monuments to themselves. Indivisible with the Senate and the Council. All sounds fine except those fine federal institutions are run for the benefit of the aristo-hats. All that idealistic guff about liberty and tolerance sounds good when it comes out of a politician’s mouth, but if you don’t agree with their way of thinking, then the Federation will decide it is better off without your continued existence.”
The wall of blank expressions he faced roused Kidson. “You’re not listening hard enough,” he insisted passionately. “Those who set themselves up as our leaders and moral betters are either corrupt or totalitarian extremists. Only the president was trustworthy until First General Clarke. But now… The Federation is a lost cause. The Rebellion’s heart and instincts are in the right place. So too are the Legion’s. I know at first it seems ludicrous for the Legion and the rebels to be anything other than sworn enemies, but the more you think about it, the more you realize they’re natural allies.”
Osu’s ears were popping with the treasonous words passing through them. He made himself picture Colonel Malix who’d put his trust in him. And of the LT and Colonel Lantosh he’d lost on Irisur. He owed them to keep calm. Getting angry was a luxury they couldn’t afford.
Doing his best to act as if he were commenting on the weather, Osu said, “So you’re saying that after a quick civil war to clear the scum away from the top layer of society, the Legion will set itself up as the loyal servant of a renewed Federation, and hand over political power to the Rebellion.”
“With the president supplied as always by the Legion,” said Kidson. “A proper one, like they managed in the three millennia before Clarke. Yeah, that’s it. How else could the rebels arrive on Rho-Torkis with such ease if not that the Legion waved them through?”
“But what about the Cora’s World troops?” Osu pressed.
“Cora’s World!” Kidson spat on the floor. “That hellhole of totalitarian collectivist puritans. What about those pricks?”
“Those rebel aircraft we saw, they had Cora’s World markings.”
“They’re part of the Rebellion...?” Kidson was so winded by Osu’s words that he barely spoke after that and soon left to sit by himself, turning to his tankard to numb the shock of his shattered theory.
The man’s dark mood infected Osu. It had been the instinct to follow orders that had propelled him all the way to this bar in a tiny town near the coast.
For the first time, he questioned them.
Whose orders was he following?
The Legion could never be anything but foes to the Cora’s World authoritarian puritans, but the moderate wing of the Rebellion was a different matter. Kidson’s theory didn’t make sense on Rho-Torkis, but it did in the wider galaxy.
Were Malix, Yazzie, and the others planning the downfall of the Federation?
And would that make Chimera Company heroes or traitors?
“Hey!” Arunsen grabbed his wrist. “Don’t get the wobbles on us now, Osu.”
Osu? The trooper had never called him that before. What was he signaling?
Arunsen gave him a pointed look. “I think it’s time to retire for the night.”
OSU SYBUTU
On the way to their quarters in a separate wing to the bars, Arunsen took Osu to one side. “On Lose-Viborg. I saw him. Khallini. He… touched me.”
“Touched?” Oso looked askance at the big man. “The little old man felt you up?”
“No! He touched me, but not physically.”
“Make sense, man!”
Arunsen sunk his voice into a whisper. “Khallini is a sorcerer.”
The intensity in Arunsen’s dark-rimmed eyes captivated Osu for a moment. Then he laughed so hard at the credulous trooper that some of the others turned to check everything was okay.
“I swear,” Arunsen hissed.
“Magic? Sorcery? Now I’ve heard everything.”
“No, Sybutu, you’ve not heard enough. Magic is real. I’ve seen it on remote worlds. But that was small beer compared with this. Khallini is a powerful sorcerer.”
Osu arched an eyebrow. “I’d like to see this sorcerer square up against a Legion platoon.”
Arunsen’s face darkened. “I’ve seen him do precisely that, and you would not have enjoyed the sight.” He checked himself. “Come to think of it, you wouldn’t have the chance. You’d be dead, same as all the other legionaries.”
Osu forced himself to keep a straight face. During the trek along the ice, Osu had developed a rudimentary respect for the man, but Arunsen remained a simple dope. “Impossible. If such a threat existed as you describe, Arunsen, the Legion would have been briefed.”
“Don’t be naive! There was a cover-up. There always is. Scapegoats made. In fact, the Legion’s traditional scapegoat practically served itself up on a silver platter.”
Previously unconnected facts and suppositions suddenly knotted together in Osu’s head. He looked up in shock. Maybe he had been the dope all along. “The Militia. Raven Company was made the scapegoat. That’s why you’re here. Because of this Khallini.”
The big man nodded, plucking absently at his beard, as if trying to draw strength.
“This encounter,” Osu pressed, “were you observing from a distance?”
“I was close enough that I swung my hammer at his head.”
“I don’t get it. How can it be that the legionaries were killed and yet you are alive to tell me this?”
Arunsen looked away, but he couldn’t hide the guilt he felt. “Khallini told me he liked me,” he murmured.
“He liked you?” Osu had no idea how to take that. He stopped at his door and fished for his room’s key disc. “This Khallini must be dangerously insane.”
Storm clouds gathered over Arunsen’s craggy face. Osu regretted sounding so flippant.
“Scoff all you want,” said Arunsen. “Good people died that day. Some of them legionaries I’d grown to admire. More continue to die. Didn’t you lose anyone you cared for at Faxian? Khallini was funding the Rebellion on Lose-Viborg. If he’s behind this chaos on Rho-Torkis, then think how he’s hurt you too.”
The trooper strode away to set the watch on the rooms, leaving Osu with scorched memories of Nydella Sanderson laughing. Of making love within sight of the alien ship left behind in an ancient war.
The ship…. he’d almost forgotten. Was all this death so that Khallini could lay his hands on that ship? Was this a rich man coveting a priceless antique? But that would mean the Invaders, as Bronze called them, were under Khallini’s command too. And when he forced himself to examine the memories of that day outside Camp Faxian, he was sure the phony legionaries had not expected the rebel attack on his home.
Too many questions, still.
He desperately wanted answers, to make sense of this mess so he knew who deserved to die.
But that wasn’t his mission. His orders were to deliver a message, and even though he was no longer sure whose orders he was truly following, that
was what he would do. But the instant his task was complete, he would be demanding answers.
CHIMERA COMPANY
Nestled in a sheltered natural harbor within the Bay of Ablation, Bresca-Brevae was a big step toward proper civilization for the Chimerans, Green Fish’s name for them that was now in common usage with both sides.
Only a few tens of klicks earlier, they had been impressed to see outhouses and clusters of Littorane homesteads. Here was a proper city with heated streets, parks, well-lit pleasure lakes, and a protective pressure dome to keep out the rain and snow. Buildings of more than one story became the norm rather than an exotic luxury.
The bay was mostly frozen, but a clear channel allowed marine shipping to service the burgeoning offshore mining industry. But it was the spaceport that excited them the most. There it was: under a pressure dome protecting leveled ground outside the city proper, stood freighters, shuttles, pleasure yachts, and utility vehicles, all lined up in stacked rings of landing bays. There were also bays secured from prying eyes by wheeled screens that hooked in underneath the higher landing pads. If any rebel war craft were present, then that’s where they must be because none were on open display.
After so many days trekking through the icy wilderness, and so many trials and challenges that not all of them had survived, the sight of this, the destination they had fought so hard to reach, would have felt like sweetened nirvana if not for one thing.
Great gouts of flame leaped from the windows of the tallest buildings in the southern sector of the city. Out on the harbor, fuel slicked along the surface of the ice, and someone had set it alight. Flames stretched toward the ships, sending up choking black clouds. Ship masters were desperately trying to get their vessels out into the clear channel and away, but with so much of the Bay of Ablation iced over, the flow of traffic was jammed solid.
With a crack of thunder, the fire caught one of the unlucky ships which exploded into a fireball, spreading the flames to the upper decks of the nearest ships.
From the west and north of the city, refugees were streaming out into the deep cold.
Chimera Company - Rho-Torkis Box Set Page 26